Shattered but not Broken
by rayrae118
Summary: Just what was Neal's childhood like? Peter never asked, never suspected anything out of the ordinary. But when Neal gets hurt during an investigation, his medical history comes to light, and Peter begins to wonder... rated T for mentions of violence.
1. Chapter 1

**I was reading another fanfic story, and this idea just came to me. Neal gets hurt, and needs to go to the hospital. Peter finds out some horrifying things about Neal's medical history, that has him dying for Neal to wake up so that he can find out the truth.**

**I really need to finish my stories before I start new ones, but this idea just took root in my brain, and I couldn't get rid of it!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own White Collar or any of its characters. Everything belongs to USA. **

"Neal, don't move, you're going to be fine." Peter looked around at the agents surrounding him. "What's the ETA on that ambulance?"

Diana and Jones hurried up to him. "Less than five minutes out, boss," Diana replied, looking down at everyone's favorite conman. She refused to let her fear show through, and her face remained impassive as she continued, "What do you want us to do now?"

Peter looked up at his favorite agent- though he didn't usually play the favorites game, he couldn't deny that he liked Diana the best. He could see the stoic exterior, but he could also see the hidden fear in her eyes. The way she kept glancing briefly down at the unconscious man lying broken on the concrete. He attempted a reassuring smile, though he wasn't certain how it actually came out. "Just make sure everyone does their jobs," he told the two agents.

Diana nodded and turned away briefly, while Jones squatted down next to his boss, staring at the consultant who had captured all of their hearts without them even realizing it. "He's going to be all right, right boss?" he asked tentatively.

Peter looked at the agent next to him. "He'll be fine." He tried to sound positive, but he was certain the man could hear the waver in his voice.

Jones continued, "What happened?"

Peter shook his head. "Neal always has to play the hero." A hard edge crept into his voice as he kept going, "Franceso took me down-" he nodded to the cuffed criminal being held by two agents near the door, "and Neal charged him." He chuckled dryly. "Idiot doesn't even _like_ violence, why on earth would he take on a perp like that?"

Jones looked at his boss. For someone so smart, Peter Burke could be incredibly stupid. "Because he cares about you," he replied quietly.

Peter looked up in surprise, but before he could say anything, the conman in question stirred slightly, and his eyes opened just a little bit. "Peter?" he asked fuzzily.

Peter gripped his upper arm, trying to get him to stop moving. "I'm here, Neal, just hold on, OK?"

Neal blinked slowly, and looked around the room, as much as he was able to. "Wha-" he tried to speak, but wasn't able to string any more words together as he started coughing and gasping for air.

Peter held on tighter, and shook his arm slightly, attempting to get the former criminal to focus on him. When Neal's eyes found his again, and his coughing subsided slightly, he said, "You're going to be fine, Caffrey, don't speak right now, an ambulance is on the way." He managed a smile now, albeit a small one. "You got yourself pretty banged up this time."

Neal attempted to return the smile. "I trust you Peter," he mumbled, before his eyes closed again. And didn't open.

Peter looked at Jones, alarmed. "Where the hell is that ambulance?" he yelled out to the room.

Diana came rushing over, two paramedics in tow. "Right here, boss," she replied, kneeling down next to Jones, watching as the medics got to work.

"What happened?" one of them asked, feeling for a pulse.

"He took a beating. Might have hit his head a few times, and I'm certain there's at least one broken rib," Peter replied quickly.

The second paramedic opened up Neal's shirt, and the three FBI agents surrounding them winced and gasped at the huge bruise spreading across his abdomen. "I'm certain you're right," he commented, raising his eyebrow.

The first medic interrupted anything else that would have been said, as he called out, "Pulse is dropping quickly; he may have a punctured lung."

Peter felt his own heart stop as he heard that. He, Jones, and Diana found themselves pushed back as the two medics got to work, quickly getting Neal strapped to a backboard, and then on the gurney. They wheeled him out of the agent-filled room, followed quickly by the three that mattered the most, all eyes watching them.

* * *

Peter used his badge to get information out of the nurses. Their 'family only' policy went out the window once he had flashed the shield and told them that the man in question was, in fact, his partner. They had been the ones to assume that he was also an FBI agent, and had fetched him a doctor immediately. All the MD had told him was that they were still assessing his partner's injuries, and he would let them know when he had a prognosis.

Peter, Diana, and Jones were now sitting in the waiting room, along with the newly arrived Elizabeth and June, who had both come as quickly as they were able after receiving Peter's phone call. If Peter had to hazard a guess, he would imagine that Mozzie was also lurking around somewhere, waiting in the shadows until he could visit his friend in private, to find out how bad the injuries were.

"Agent Burke?"

Peter looked up at the nurse who had called his name.

The nurse continued, "Doctor Carlson would like to talk to you. Follow me?"

Peter stood up quickly. "Is Neal OK?" he asked fearfully.

The nurse turned back around. "I'm not sure, Agent Burke, all I know is that Doctor Carlson wants to see you."

Peter nodded and looked back at the small group. They all had questioning looks. "I'll be right back," Peter told them, before following the nurse to an empty exam room, where Doctor Carlson was waiting for him, studying several X-rays that were displayed on light boards on the wall.

"Doctor?" the nurse got the man's attention, and he nodded with a strained smile. "Thank you Jenny," he replied. "Agent Burke, please come in," he addressed his visitor, as the nurse headed back towards the Emergency Room.

Peter complied, closing the door behind him. "Are those Neal's?" he asked, nodding towards the X-rays. Doctor Carlson nodded absentmindedly. "What's wrong?" Peter continued, looking worried at the doctor's attitude.

The doctor finally turned to look at the agent directly. "How long has Mr. Caffrey been an FBI agent?" he asked curiously.

Peter winced slightly. He needed to tell the truth, here and now, because he couldn't outright lie. All the other assumptions had been just that: assumptions. Now that he was being directly asked, he couldn't mislead them anymore. "He's actually not," Peter confessed. "He's a consultant, he works with us, but he's not an agent."

Doctor Carlson nodded, furrowing his brow as he turned once again to the X-rays. Peter felt his own eyes drawn towards them as well. "What's this all about?" he asked.

The doctor moved closer, and ran his fingers lightly over each X-ray as he began to explain the extent of Neal's injuries. "Your friend has been through quite an ordeal," he began. "Three broken ribs, and the paramedic was right, one of them punctured his lung." He saw the fear in Peter's eyes, and hurried to reassure him. "We were able to repair the damage, but he's on a ventilator for now until the lung gets stronger." Doctor Carlson moved over to the second X-ray, and continued, "He's got a small skull fracture, and a larger concussion, which is cause for some worry, but we're monitoring him closely." He went to the third X-ray. "Broken wrist in two places, should heal fine." The fourth X-ray now. "Fractured collar bone." The doctor looked back at Peter now. "He's going to be fine, Agent Burke, but what I'm more interested in are all these older injuries."

"What?" Peter asked, confused, as he looked at the X-rays and tried to see what the doctor saw.

Doctor Carlson ran his finger over the rib cage X-ray. "These older breaks, looks like every rib has been broken or fractured at least once, and judging from the calcification, it happened at least two decades ago." Moving through the line once more, he focused now on the skull. "See this line right here? And this one, and this one?" He looked over and waited for Peter's nod before continuing, "They're older cracks and fractures, probably happened around the same time as the rib breaks." Moving on once more, he kept going, "This arm has been broken before. So has the other one," he said, looking at the agent once more. He moved over to the table, where a small pile of X-rays were stacked. He shuffled them around for a moment, before pulling out several more. "His leg's been broken twice, his shoulder once-" he put the X-rays back down and looked at Peter, "and he's got some pretty nasty-looking scars. The nurses noticed them while getting him into a gown."

Peter listened to all of this in stunned silence. The extent of these injuries was horrifying. He tried to imagine what had happened to the con artist. He tried to come up with reasons behind it, but he couldn't imagine it all happening during the man's criminal career. He knew very little of the younger man's life before he became a criminal; just that he was an only child, and that his mother had died when he was five. Neal had gone through great lengths to hide that part of his past.

After a few minutes, he noticed that the doctor was trying to get his attention. "Hmm? Oh, sorry," he said distractedly.

Doctor Carlson half smiled. "So, I assume you know nothing about it?"

Peter shook his head. "He never told me anything," the agent whispered, feeling horrible. Clearly, the man had suffered greatly, and there was nothing Peter could do about it. He had never even asked. Looking back, he could remember times, few and far between, but there were definitely times when he would catch the former criminal massaging his wrist or shoulder absentmindedly, as if the limb ached. He would see the man limping slightly as he walked into the office. He remembered seeing the con artist frequently lifting his hand to touch a faint scar on his neck, running from underneath his chin up to his ear. And he had never asked how Neal had gotten that scar.

Peter felt horrible. What kind of friend was he? Neal had a past, a childhood, a life, and all Peter cared about was the part that was his business, as a white collar FBI agent. He had never asked about anything else, had never assumed that there was anything else to know. But wasn't it his job to never assume anything?

He needed to get away from this room, and these X-rays on display that all seemed to be mocking him. He forced himself to meet the doctor's eyes. "When can we see Neal?" he asked, his tight voice giving his distress away.

Doctor Carlson could see some of the guilt and anguish in the man's voice and on his face, but he ignored it, and answered the question. "The nurses are getting him settled now, I'll have one of them come get you when they're done."

Peter nodded his thanks, and abruptly left the room.

* * *

They all looked up when Peter rejoined them. El got up to kiss her husband lightly. Pulling back, she smiled, and then frowned when she saw the glazed over expression. He seemed to be looking through, rather than _at,_ any of them.

"Honey, what's wrong?" she asked worriedly.

Peter finally managed to focus his gaze, and noticed that his wife was in his arms, looking scared. He attempted a smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. "Neal's going to be fine," he reassured the group.

Diana stood up now. She saw the expression, and knew that something was wrong. She had never seen Peter look this way, and it was starting to scare her. "How bad is it?" she asked, taking a tentative step forward.

Peter looked at the female agent in front of him, and spoke to the group. "Some broken bones, a concussion…" he shrugged. "One of the broken ribs punctured his lung, but they were able to fix it."

He was interrupted by the same nurse, Jenny, coming to tell them all that Neal's room was ready, and they could go see him. "But only two at a time," she said sternly, before walking away.

Everyone looked at Peter. "Why don't you go first, boss?" Diana said hesitantly.

Peter looked at all of the people nodding, and he turned around without a word, heading into the depths of the hospital. _To Neal_.

The group watched him leave in silence. It was Jones who finally spoke. "Is it just me, or is there something wrong with him?" he asked, looking around.

* * *

Peter peered around the door frame cautiously, afraid of what he might see. Moving forward, he stopped in surprise. Neal looked so…peaceful. Quiet, serene. It just wasn't Neal.

The agent took a seat next to the bed, and just stared at the man lying before him. No words came for several minutes, and when they did, it was just a simple, "I'm sorry." Peter didn't know what he was apologizing for: the fact that Neal had been hurt trying to help him, or for the horrible torture he had endured, a torture that was invisible, except for the healed injuries, the old scars, and once in a while a flinch, a distant look, or a flash of fear in his eyes that was gone when anyone stopped to get a better look.

Peter looked at his consultant, his partner, his _friend_. He needed the man to wake up. He needed to tell him how glad he was to have him in his life. He needed the younger man to know that he cared. That he trusted him. He had never told the consultant how much he meant, not just as an asset, but as a man.

Peter didn't know how long he sat there, just staring at his friend. Part of him noticed when the door opened slightly, and Neal's other friends- no, his _family_- peeked in briefly one at a time, before backing out and leaving him alone once more.

All through the night, he kept watch. He waited. He wanted to be the first thing Neal saw when he woke up. He wanted the man to know that he cared. That he didn't see him as just a consultant, or a criminal. He wanted Neal to know that he loved him, like a brother, or even- sometimes- as a father.

The nurses left him alone, not bothering to point out that visiting hours had ended, knowing that he would just flash his badge and demand to stay.

Peter watched. And he waited.

_So, how's that for a first chapter? This is my first White Collar fic, so go easy! I love the show, and I hope I'm doing the characters justice. _

_So, next up: Neal wakes up, and he and Peter have a talk. Where did Neal get all those injuries? _

_Reviews are my friend!_


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for all the wonderful reviews! I had it pointed out to me, and I do know, that I am taking some liberties. In the real world, it is more than likely Peter would know about the scars and broken bones, because it **_**would**_** all be in his prison file. But for the purposes of this story, we're going to pretend that once Peter closed the book and arrested Neal, he never looked back; therefore, he doesn't know until now. Ok, that done, now on with the story!**

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognize is mine!**

It took two days for Neal to regain consciousness. After one day, the doctors were worried. After two, they started telling Peter that Neal would wake up when he was ready.

Peter was beyond concerned. He was anxious, scared, nervous. And angry. Angry at Neal for not waking up; angry at Neal for getting into this position in the first place. And then he felt guilty. Guilty for being vexed with his partner, his best friend. He knew it was only his fear that was making him lash out, but he couldn't help it. He was mad at the world, but most of all, he was mad at himself. For getting Neal into this situation. It really was all his fault, he was the FBI agent after all, and he was responsible for the consultant.

Peter's troubling thoughts were interrupted by a moan coming from the prone figure lying in front of him. He leaned forward slightly. A strong desire came over him to grasp the younger man's hand, but he forced himself to remain stoic. "Neal?" he ventured carefully. No response.

Neal could feel someone in the room with him. He tried to turn his head to look, but his body wasn't cooperating with his brain. Neal heard the noise again. This time, he could make it out as Peter, saying his name. He wanted to speak, to reassure the agent that he was all right, but there was something down his throat that was preventing that from happening. He took a breath, and started coughing.

Peter stood up with alarm as he heard the monitors going haywire. Before he could do anything else, several nurses and Doctor Carlson ran into the room. Together, they were able to get Neal to calm down. Or at least, to stop coughing. Peter could hear the faster beeping of the heart monitor, and knew that Neal was at least semi-aware, and in distress. He moved forward, and finally got a clear view; Neal's eyes were open, and glancing around at the strange faces surrounding him. Peter could see the fear and confusion in them, and he hastened to get the man to understand.

"Hey, Neal," he said carefully. Neal's eyes found his, and he felt the younger man calm down slightly on recognizing the familiar face.

Neal could guess as to where he was; something about the off white walls and tacky gown he seemed to be wearing gave it away. He could hear someone else talking, and he made an effort to focus. The noise seemed to be coming from the middle aged man wearing the doctor's coat standing next to Peter.

"Neal? Can you hear me?" The doctor leaned forward, and waited until Neal was looking at him. The young man blinked slowly, and then nodded his head slightly. The doctor smiled slightly. "Very good. I'm Doctor Carlson, how are you feeling?" Neal raised his eyebrow slightly, and the doctor chuckled. "I don't suppose you'd like to get that tube out of your throat, huh?" Without another word, the doctor got to work. "I'm going to need you to cough," Carlson informed Neal as he slowly pulled the tube up.

Neal obliged, and several painful moments later, he was breathing normally again. Doctor Carlson held a cup of water to Neal's lips and watched him drink greedily. Once that was finished, he took a step back and addressed his patient once more. "You've had us all worried, Mr. Caffrey. But you're awake now, and I expect to get you out of here within the next day or so."

Doctor Carlson nodded to Peter, and left the room, leaving the partners alone.

Peter and Neal stared at each other for a few minutes, before Neal broke the silence. "So…" He trailed off uncertainly, unsure of what to say. Peter seemed to be faring no better; he was watching his partner, but kept glancing around the room as if hoping something would intrude on the strained silence.

Finally Neal found something to say. "How long was I out?" he asked curiously.

Peter looked up from his left shoe, which he had been studiously staring at. "Two days," he answered straightly, watching Neal wince at the time lapse. "You got banged up pretty badly."

Neal sighed and turned his head back so that he was staring at the ceiling. "Don't have to tell me that," he replied quietly, almost to himself. "I know what a concussion feels like."

Peter leaned forward. There was the opening he had been looking for. "How would you know that?" he asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

Neal looked over at his friend once again. He attempted a shrug, but ended up wincing at the pain it brought.

Peter shifted in his seat at the flash of pain that crossed Neal's face. He wished he could do something to help, but knew it was impossible. "Are you all right?" he ventured carefully.

Neal took a deep breath- as deep as he was able, considering the three broken ribs- and attempted a 'Neal Caffrey winning smile'; he guessed, however, that he had failed miserably, because Peter didn't look any calmer. "I'm fine, Peter," he reassured.

Peter raised his eyebrows, but decided to let it go, in order to get back to the previous subject. "OK then," he segued, settling back in his seat, "let's get back to how you know what a concussion feels like." He fixed Neal with a piercing stare, the kind that made the former criminal want to run in the opposite direction. It was the FBI agent's 'I know you're hiding something and I'm not going to stop until I find out what it is' look.

Neal tried to deflect; he attempted an eye-roll- which didn't do much for the splitting headache, and in a- yet again try-and-fail- cool voice, said, "Come on, Peter, I'm an- alleged- criminal. You think I've never been injured before?"

Peter looked at the conman for a long moment, trying to gauge the validity of the statement. Neal was normally an unsurpassed liar; he had had to be, in order to do his 'job'. But Peter knew Neal better than anyone else, save perhaps Mozzie…and Kate. Peter's face remained carefully neutral as he was reminded of that explosion, and the look of pure desperation and agony on his partner's face. Forcing himself back to the moment at hand, he raised an eyebrow at the former convict. "I suppose I should just let this go for now," he threw Neal the lifeline he could tell the man really needed. Getting up, he continued, "I've got to get back to the office, but I'll stop by later."

Neal nodded as his friend left. He tried to come up with something to say, but couldn't get any words past the lump in his throat. Only once he was alone again was he free to let his mind be flooded by all the memories he had forcefully shoved back for almost twenty years. Most people saw him as a confident, happy, suave young man, with no hidden skeletons, no shadows, no past. Peter saw through that pretense more than most, but even he couldn't see everything. He saw through the first mask, but only to the second. Neal had so many barriers and walls in place, it was impossible to tell where the charade ended, and the real Neal began.

Even Neal had managed to believe the lie most days. It was that belief that allowed him to get up in the morning, get dressed, go to work. It was that sham that let him come home after a long day, make dinner for himself, and focus on something else. Something other than himself, because if he allowed himself to think, gave himself time to remember, it was likely he would crawl into his bed and never leave it again.

Neal closed his eyes and tried desperately to forget. Damn Peter for bringing all of this up again! He knew the agent meant well, but he really had no idea what he had done. He had torn away at that final barrier, the one that held it all back, buried, deep in the corners of his mind, and kept it from overwhelming the rest of his thoughts, and his soul.

Somewhere in the middle of all of this worrying, Neal felt sleep claim him. And all of the nightmares, the ones he hadn't had since he was seventeen, came rushing back.

_First it was a dark room. A child Neal was asleep, tossing and turning in restless slumber. A loud crash caused the young boy to startle awake. As footsteps grew closer, the small child began to tremble. _

_The trembles turned to shaking, and as the bedroom door crashed open, full on terror. Neal shoved himself backwards, trying to get as far away from the figure stalking towards him, and kept moving until his back collided with the headboard. He drew his knees up to his chest, and wrapped his arm around them, tears cascading down his face. The hulking figure grabbed his arm and threw him to the floor. The boy let out a small yelp as his head collided with the leg of the bed. He continued to scream as the man began kicking him, until finally, the blissfulness of oblivion came over him, and he lost consciousness._

_The dream changed, and now an older Neal was sitting at his desk, doing homework. Once again, a crash signaled the arrival of another person into the small apartment the teen shared with his family. He looked up from his work, and felt the familiar feelings of dread began to take root in his stomach. Praying silently, he hoped that the new arrival would pass up his room, just this once. _

_It was all in vain, though, as the door crashed open seconds later. Neal gulped as he stared at the man standing in the doorway. Even from this distance, he could smell the alcohol. Just as he could see the near-empty bottle of whiskey grasped in the old man's hand. As he watched, the figure took a large gulp, and lowered the bottle, coughing harshly. _

_Finally, Neal spoke. "Hi, dad," he said uncertainly._

_Neal's father said nothing for several moments, just stared, as Neal got even more frightened. Which seemed to be what the elder Caffrey wanted. With a smirk, he moved forward, draining the last drop from the bottle of liquor. Neal quickly stood up and took a step back, trying to keep the distance between him and the approaching man. It worked, until he collided with the far wall._

_The man smirked again, and kept up his advance. Neal closed his eyes in defeat, and waited for the unavoidable pain. He couldn't remember a single day of his life where he didn't hurt in some way. He was used to this by now, but it didn't mean he had to like it. But he knew that he deserved it; after all, his father had told him, over and over again, how it was his fault. He knew he was worthless, useless, good-for-nothing. He knew this was all he should hope for out of life._

_Then came the pain, just like he expected. First it was a sharp punch to his stomach that caused him to open his eyes quickly, biting his lip to keep the gasp from escaping. He couldn't help the cry that came with the second blow, and his eyes closed again. He felt his legs crumple beneath him, as he slid down to the floor, landing on his side. The next blow never came, however. Coughing, Neal squinted up at the imposing figure standing above him. He seemed to be waiting for something. A moment later, he appeared to have found it; his arm moved in an arc, and Neal didn't even have time to close his eyes before he felt the sharp pain at his neck, and along his shoulder. He screamed one more time, before falling into unconsciousness._

Neal thrashed and came awake, breathing heavily. He looked around the sterile hospital room, taking note of where he was, trying to calm himself down. _Just a nightmare_, he thought, as he forced himself to take measured breaths.

Peter watched from the doorway. He had heard the noise before entering the room, and the sight of Neal caught up in a nightmare had been enough to floor the FBI agent. He had enjoyed watching Neal sleep over the last couple of days: the young man seemed so calm, so peaceful, in slumber. Like he didn't have a care in the world. But this was different. Something had captured the conman's mind, and refused to let go.

He had to force himself to wait at the doorway as he saw the man wake abruptly and look around; he could tell that Neal was trying to reassure himself that the dream was over, that it hadn't been real. Unfortunately, Peter guessed that whatever it was, it _had_ been real. At some point.

Neal, clueless about his silent watcher, reached up tentatively to touch the light scars that ran along his neck and shoulder. The day had been so long ago, but the dream was just as he remembered it. _Damn Peter for bringing all this up_, was all the consultant could think about.

A hesitant coughing in the doorway brought Neal out of his musings. He glanced up, schooling his face into a careful blankness as he saw the FBI agent in question standing there. He looked like he was waiting for an invitation. Neal offered none, and after a few awkward moments, the older man entered anyway.

"How'd you sleep?" Peter asked uncomfortably, sitting down in the chair he had frequented often over the last few days.

Neal cleared his throat. He almost shrugged, but remembered what had happened the last time. "Fine," he answered, doing his best to look the agent in the eye.

Peter could tell he was lying, but decided to let it go. He still wanted to have the conversation with his partner, but felt that it might be easier once they had left the hospital behind. "El's on her way over," he said instead, noticing the slight lift in Neal's manner at those words. "She wants to tell you herself how glad she is that you're awake."

Neal nodded, but couldn't think of anything to say. He really liked Peter's wife, and felt a special kind of bond with her that he didn't feel with his partner. It wasn't that he had romantic inclinations towards the woman, or that he didn't like her husband. But Elizabeth had been more willing to trust him in the beginning, more open to having him in her life. He would never forget that. "How's June?" he asked, changing the subject.

Peter settled back into his chair, and began filling the consultant in on all he had missed. "She's been worried about you. She spent a lot of time in the waiting room. I called her after I left, and told her you're awake. She said she'd stop by this evening." Neal nodded, but didn't interrupt, and Peter knew it was a sign to keep talking. He didn't seem to be in the mood for conversation, more willing to just lie back and listen. The agent could tell that the conman had something else on his mind, and needed some distraction. Which he was more than willing to provide. Anything to keep the younger man from dwelling on- well, whatever that nightmare had been about. Peter was positive that's what was occupying the majority of Neal's brain right now. And considering how smart the former convict was, that was saying a lot. "Jones and Diana say hi," he continued, waiting for some sort of confirmation. He got a strained smile in response, but it was better than nothing. "I'm sure Mozzie's around, though I haven't actually seen him." And there was that trademark Neal smirk. Peter felt his heart lift slightly with that look. It meant that Neal was still in there, somewhere. He was still the same man Peter had gotten to know, hate, love-to-hate, hate-to-love, and then eventually, to love.

The door opened again, and Elizabeth Burke poked her head inside. "Hey," she said quietly, drawing their attention. Both men smiled, though El could see that it was taking some effort for Neal to keep his up. Moving into the room, she flashed a small grin at her husband when he hastily stood, offering her his seat. She took it, scooting it forward until she was almost touching the bed. She reached for Neal's hand, and it didn't escape her- or Peter's- attention when the young man flinched at the contact.

Peter cleared his throat. "I've got to go make a few phone calls," he told the two of them when they looked at him. "I'll be back in a bit." At El's nod- Neal didn't make any gesture of comprehension, which only made the agent worry more- he turned and left his partner and his wife alone.

As soon as the door closed, El turned back to Neal and the smile was replaced by a frown. Still, Neal didn't seem to notice. She squeezed his hand tighter, and it was only then that the consultant turned his head to acknowledge the presence next to him.

"What's wrong, Neal?" El asked gently.

Neal just stared. The inner debate was so loud, he was sure that Elizabeth could hear it. He wanted to tell her, to confide in her, to trust her like she had trusted him. She had shown a great leap of faith, believing in the ex-con when no one else had, including her own husband. But another part of him didn't want to bring all of that up. The past was the past, and there was a reason he hadn't allowed himself to think of it for so long. He blinked and forced himself to look Elizabeth in the eyes.

That was his mistake. They were so full of caring, so trustworthy. He had to tell her. He had to talk. And for the first time since it had all happened, he _wanted_ to talk.

_I could keep going, but why spoil the fun! Plus, I have about five minutes before class, and I really want/need to finish this chapter. I hope it is continuing to meet expectations =]_

_What does Neal tell El? Keep reading to find out!_

_Please review!_


	3. Chapter 3

**I'm enjoying all the reviews so much! Thank you guys for being so interested! And I'm sorry it took so long to update. Life just happened.**

**Disclaimer: not mine!**

Last time:

_Neal just stared. The inner debate was so loud, he was sure that Elizabeth could hear it. He wanted to tell her, to confide in her, to trust her like she had trusted him. She had shown a great leap of faith, believing in the ex-con when no one else had, including her own husband. But another part of him didn't want to bring all of that up. The past was the past, and there was a reason he hadn't allowed himself to think of it for so long. He blinked and forced himself to look Elizabeth in the eyes._

_That was his mistake. They were so full of caring, so trustworthy. He had to tell her. He had to talk. And for the first time since it had all happened, he __wanted__ to talk._

* * *

Elizabeth squeezed Neal's hand and set it back on the bed at his side. Quietly, she got up and joined her husband at the door, where he was watching his sleeping partner.

Peter put his arm around his wife, as the two of them continued to look at the resting man for several more minutes. Finally, the agent jerked his head towards the hall, and Elizabeth, understanding, left with him, throwing one last glance into the room behind her before she closed the door. She put her own arm around her husband's waist and leaned into him as they walked, more troubled than before. Neal hadn't really revealed anything in the last couple of hours, but the hints and allusions he had made had been more than enough to set her nerves on edge.

Peter saw his wife's wavering attention, and he frowned. He knew something was wrong, and he wondered just what had happened while Elizabeth had been visiting Neal. "El?" Elizabeth didn't look up. He tried again. "What's wrong, honey?"

Finally, Elizabeth made an acknowledgment. She squeezed Peter closer, and sighed. "I'm worried," she replied quietly.

Peter felt his stomach drop. "What happened in there?" he asked.

Elizabeth pulled back slightly, and waited until they had passed through the automatic doors of the hospital and were out in the fading daylight before answering the question. "I'm not entirely sure," she said softly as the two made their way to Peter's car. "I've just got a bad feeling," she added.

Peter nodded slowly, feeling his own tendrils of dread creeping their way into his stomach. He really wanted to know what had transpired. "El…" he started, and then trailed off as he slipped into the driver's seat, while Elizabeth climbed in next to him.

Elizabeth cut in. "Peter, I'm worried, and I know you are too, but I think maybe you and Neal should talk. Whatever happened, or didn't happen, he should be the one to tell you."

Peter sighed, and nodded. He admired his wife's morals and loyalty, even to a convicted felon. Damn that conman for worming his way into his life, and making it impossible for the agent to ever imagine life without him.

Elizabeth smiled gratefully. She was thankful Peter seemed to listen, and, hopefully, he would honor her wishes, and talk to his partner. She settled back for the ride home, and her thoughts shifted to the strange conversation she had just had with the former felon.

"_Come on, Neal, please talk to me." Elizabeth felt her voice waver, and she took a deep breath, trying to calm herself, and the distressed man lying in front of her._

_Neal looked away from the woman he considered one of his best friends. He couldn't do this. He wanted to talk, but he couldn't figure out where to start._

"_Neal?" Elizabeth tried again._

_Neal forced himself to look Elizabeth in the eyes, and felt himself lose his nerve as he did so. He attempted a 'Caffrey winning smile'. "I'm fine," he assured the woman, but judging from the expression on her face, it wasn't working._

_Elizabeth moved forward and grasped Neal's hand in hers, squeezing gently. "Neal, you know you can tell me anything, right?"_

_Neal shifted his eyes towards the ceiling once more. He was feeling conflicted; in his heart, he knew he could trust Elizabeth and Peter. But his brain wasn't quite so willing to surrender. He had been alone his entire life, never able to open up, or rely on, anyone else. _

"_Neal?"_

_Elizabeth's voice was soft and pleading. She was getting very worried at the change in Neal's usual demeanor. _

"_It was just a bad dream," Neal told the ceiling._

_Elizabeth's eyebrows shot up. A nightmare? "Do you want to tell me about it?" she asked gently._

_Neal shook his head, wincing in pain at the movement. "Not really," he replied, twisting his mouth in half a smirk. "It wasn't really a bad dream, per say, more like memories." _

_Still, he wouldn't look at Elizabeth, who once again found herself on high alert. Memories? In the form of nightmares? Just what had the young man been dreaming about? And just what had happened in his past to affect him so?_

_After several minutes of strained silence, Neal spoke again. "Elizabeth, don't look so worried, it was a long time ago. I moved on."_

_And again, that statement was the opposite of helpful. Elizabeth was getting no answers, and even more questions. If it wasn't so bad, why didn't Neal want to talk about it? She attempted a smile, that came out as more of a grimace. "Well, as I said, you know you can tell me anything."_

_Neal chuckled lightly. "I don't know, remember who your husband is."_

_Elizabeth had to join in with the laughter. "You know what I mean," she replied, glad for the lightening of the moment. Neal let out a sigh, and Elizabeth noticed his eyelids drooping. "Maybe you should get some rest," she suggested gently._

_Neal took a breath to argue, and then changed his mind when he saw the look in Elizabeth's eyes. So gentle and caring; there was no hidden meaning behind it. He knew she was worried, but she was willing to put off her own questions, delay her own peace of mind, in order to make sure he was comfortable._

_Neal nodded. "Thanks for visiting," he said quietly, trying to mask the sudden emotion that came rushing to his head. He wasn't sure how to deal with people who actually cared. Anger he could deal with. Frustration, phoniness, _lies_, he could deal with. But genuine compassion? He had never really known it before he had met Elizabeth. Mozzie cared, it was true, but he was a criminal; and the criminal's first thought was always to themselves. Kate had been the same way. He had loved her, and he believed she had loved him, but there was no denying that, if it had come to it, she would always choose herself over him. And he had to admit, the reverse was probably true as well. But with Elizabeth, she just wanted what was best for him. She would do anything to help him. Peter cared as well, but not on the same level. His first duty was to his job, not to Neal._

_Elizabeth watched as Neal's eyelids drooped even more, and then eventually he gave in to sleep. She watched him for a few moments, wondering if this was what mothers felt when watching their children sleep. She just wanted to protect him from the world, and felt physically sick at the thought of what he must have already endured in life. She hoped he would believe her, and remember that she was there for him. She hoped he would trust her enough to talk. Eventually._

* * *

I know, this was much shorter. I'm sorry it took so long to put up, but you know, life has this way of screwing with us =[ classes and stuff, so busy! I can't wait for the semester to end.

I hope this satisfies people, I know a lot of you wanted to have Neal and Elizabeth talk, have him tell her everything, and maybe he will. Later. But I want to save 'the big talk' for after Neal gets out of the hospital. I haven't really decided yet if he tells Elizabeth or Peter first. Or the two of them together. maybe I'll let the reviews decide! But this chapter was supposed to be enough to get Elizabeth as worried as her husband about their favorite conman, it wasn't really supposed to share any new information.

Again, I'm sorry it's so short! But I thought you'd rather have an update now, than wait another-well, in all likelihood, it would probably be thanksgiving-for a new chapter =]

And as always, please review!


	4. Chapter 4

**Another chapter! Yea! I'm so glad people like it! And thanks for the suggestions, I always take them into account, and they definitely influenced this chapter.**

**And I'm so sorry for the long time between updates. I blame school, a lack of inspiration…and of course, **_**The Mentalist**_** (I just got into the series, and had to watch all the episodes to get caught up-two and a half seasons in about five days, not bad considering everything else I've got going on). But I'm back, and it's almost Thanksgiving, so hopefully I'll have some more free time to write!**

**Disclaimer: you all know the drill =]**

"They're letting you out of here?"

Neal turned to look at the small figure standing in the doorway. He smiled at his friend. "Took you long enough to stop by, Moz," he commented, reaching over to pick up his shoes, and wincing slightly at the jarring movement.

Mozzie cast a nervous glance out into the hall, and then hurried inside, shutting the door behind him. "What was I supposed to do?" he asked generally, stopping awkwardly and watching Neal attempt to put his shoes on. "Mr. and Mrs. Suit hardly left your side. Besides, I knew you were all right."

Neal finally gave up, and looked back up at Mozzie. "Nice to know you care," he replied dryly.

Mozzie took a step back. "Of course I care," he said. "You're my friend!"

Neal shook his head. "I know you do, Moz," he placated the older man.

Mozzie took a deep breath, and then let it out. "I should probably get going before Suit comes back," he changed the topic.

Neal nodded. "Thanks for stopping by," he replied, as the small man moved to open the door.

Mozzie turned around. "You going back to June's?"

Neal hesitated, and then nodded again. "Where else would I go?" he asked, curious.

Mozzie shrugged. "I don't know," he answered cautiously. He peeked out of the room again, and saw what looked to be Neal's doctor heading towards the room. "I should get going," he said, and then beat a hasty retreat before Neal could get out another word.

Neal shook his head at his friend's antics. The man was a paranoid nut, but he was definitely a good friend.

A moment later, Doctor Carlson walked in. "I bet you're ready to get out of here, aren't you Mr. Caffrey," he chuckled.

Neal nodded, and added a charming smile of his own. "I assume that will be happening soon?" he asked, as he resumed the attempt at putting his shoes on.

Doctor Carlson shook his head and bent over to help. "Agent Burke and his wife are currently signing you out," he replied as he worked.

Neal's eyebrows shot up in surprise. He hadn't been expecting that. "Thanks," he said absentmindedly as the doctor finished and stood up again.

Doctor Carlson smiled. "Don't mention it."

Any further conversation was cut off as the door opened once more and Peter and Elizabeth walked in.

"Ready to go, Neal?" Elizabeth asked in as cheerful a voice as she could muster.

Neal looked from Peter to Elizabeth and back. "Are you giving me a ride to June's?" he asked curiously.

Peter shook his head. "Afraid you're staying with us for a while, buddy," he told the conman with false sadness.

Neal just stared at his partner. He was trying to figure out just what was going on.

Elizabeth jumped in. "The doctors say you should have someone to look after you for a few days, just until you heal a little bit more. They don't think it's a good idea for you to be alone." When Neal didn't answer, she continued, her voice taking on a sort of begging tone. "Please, Neal, we want to help." Still no response. "I'll be cooking, anything you want."

At last, Neal smiled. He tore his gaze off of Peter, who was finally able to shift uncomfortably once the pressure of the former felon's stare was lifted, and turned to Elizabeth. "Well how could I turn down an offer like that?" he said with a slight bow, doing his best not to wince at the pain the gesture brought.

But of course, both Peter and Elizabeth noticed. Fortunately, neither brought it up. Instead, the pair escorted the young man out of the hospital.

* * *

Neal looked out the window as the car came to a stop. He sighed quietly, but made no move to get out. Instead, he stared absentmindedly at the quaint house in front of which they had stopped.

Peter and Elizabeth watched the young man worriedly. Glancing at each other, understanding passed between them. Simultaneously, both exited the vehicle. Elizabeth, in turn, moved to open Neal's door. Slowly, ignoring any gesture of help from the agent and his wife, Neal got out of the car. He followed Peter into the house, Elizabeth bringing up the rear.

Neal stopped just inside the door and looked around. He had been here before, many times, but he had never felt as awkward has he did at that moment.

Peter dropped his coat on the table and turned around. He saw the consultant standing uncomfortably in the entry. Elizabeth was next to him, looking worried. Peter took a step forward, and then stopped, afraid to interrupt the scene in front of him.

Elizabeth rested her hand on Neal's arm. She squeezed gently, and started to rub small circles with her thumb.

Peter cleared his throat. Elizabeth turned to look at her husband, but Neal made no movement of any kind. He just kept staring at the banister of the staircase, lost in thought. Peter shifted uneasily. "We've got the guest room all made up," he told the conman.

Neal finally managed to tear his gaze away from the stairs, and looked up at Peter. "Thanks," he replied quietly. Moving forward now, he entered the living room. Satchmo came trotting up, and Neal finally showed a smile, albeit a small one. "Hey, Satch," he greeted, holding his hand out for the dog to lick.

Peter and Elizabeth watched with a smile. Once the task had been completed, Neal looked back at his hosts, trying to find something to say.

Luckily, Elizabeth beat him to it. "I bet you're tired," she commented, still holding on to his arm, almost supporting him. She could practically feel his exhaustion.

Neal looked down slightly into his partner's wife's eyes. He nodded almost imperceptibly. Elizabeth gave his arm a tug, and led him in the direction of the spare room. "Why don't you get some rest, and we'll have some dinner when you wake up," she suggested.

Neal nodded again, and pulled his arm out of her grasp, moving forward on his own now. Under the pair's watchful gaze, he walked down the hall and disappeared into the empty room.

Once they were alone, Peter turned to his wife. "Are you sure you don't-" he started, but Elizabeth cut him off.

"You should talk to Neal," Elizabeth said gently. She knew her husband was worried, and she knew he was curious. Put that together with a badge and it spelled trouble. She only hoped that he would refrain from using his shield to ferret out information, and take her advice.

Peter visibly drooped. He knew she was right. But he didn't relish the idea of talking to his partner about such things. Neither of them were the touchy-feely type.

Elizabeth saw the acquiescence in his eyes, and she smiled. "It'll be fine," she assured him.

Peter just nodded.

_

* * *

Neal knew he had to be dreaming. It was like watching a home movie, only no one had ever made any movies of his childhood. And there was no sound. Frozen, he watched his own ten year old self get silently beaten to a pulp on the floor. He saw his head bash against the leg of the bed, and he winced. _

_He watched as his father took out a wrench from his belt, and his eyes widened in horror. He knew what night this was. _

No_, he thought forcefully, but when he tried to open his mouth to scream, he found he couldn't. He could do nothing but cry out in his own mind and watch, distraught, as his older sister Marni pushed open the door and grabbed their father's wrench-bearing hand mid-swing._

_He could do nothing as he again saw his father turn on the fifteen-year-old girl and strike her across the face. He could not tear his eyes away as the old man struck again and again. Under his tearful gaze, Marni crumpled to the floor. But it did not stop there. Neal started struggling again, but could not move to get closer, as the wrench arced again, and again, until Marni slowly stopped moving altogether. _

Neal shot up in bed, breathing heavily. He looked around the room, confused for a moment, before remembering where he was. A momentary second of panic, thinking that he may have made some sound that would draw his hosts to the room, before he forced himself to calm down, seeing no one, and the still closed door.

His mind wandered back to the nightmare. It had been so long since he had had that one, since he had allowed himself to think of her…

_Her_, who had always looked out for him, who had always protected him who had _died_ to save him. When she had needed help, he had done nothing.

With a choked gasp, he felt the tears begin to fall. He hadn't cried for her in over a decade. He hadn't let himself cry for his childhood, for what had happened to his sister, for anything. He told himself that it was because he didn't need to, that he was fine with it, but he knew that was a lie. It was all part of the mask. He didn't allow himself to feel those emotions because he knew that if he started, he wouldn't be able to stop. And then he wouldn't be able to function. He bottled it all up because he wanted to forget. Everything.

A quiet knock at the door brought his thoughts back to the present. He hastily wiped his eyes with the blanket, and called out, "Come in," hoping that whoever was there wouldn't hear the waver in his voice.

Peter pushed the door open cautiously. He had heard the rustling behind the closed door, had known that beyond that barrier, the conman was caught in yet another horrible dream- that- wasn't- really- a- dream. But he hadn't entered the room. He hadn't checked, because he felt he owed it to the man to at least let him have that to himself. He wouldn't intrude until and unless Neal let him.

"How are you feeling?" Peter asked, trying not to sound too worried.

Neal tried to smile, but knew that it looked more like a grimace. "I'm fine," he replied, steel in his voice.

Peter sighed and shook his head. Neal felt panic grip his mind again, and his stomach clenched. He knew what the older man wanted.

And the consultant was right. Peter edged his way closer, keeping his distance but still managing to show a friendly attitude, for all its seriousness. "Neal," he started, sitting down in the chair that was pushed up against the wall, near the foot of the bed, "I think we should talk."

_I think I'm almost done! Of course, I've said that before, in other stories, and then ended up going on another 20 chapters! Again, this was pretty short, but I don't want to keep going, I want their talk to be its own chapter. _

_Again, I'm so sorry for the delay! _

_Please REVIEW!_


	5. Chapter 5

**I know, it's been so long! I really should have written more over thanksgiving, but, well, I was distracted by the food, and the spending time with my family, whom I haven't seen for months. I hope you'll all forgive me, and I hope this chapter makes up for the evil cliffhanger I left you with!**

**Disclaimer: I don't think I need to keep saying it =]**

Neal looked up at Peter and swallowed harshly. Nothing good ever came after those words. And Neal knew what his partner wanted to talk about. But for now, he decided to play dumb. "About what?" he asked innocently.

Peter looked at the man sitting in front of him. He took in the clenched fists, the watery eyes, and the tear streaks. He knew the con artist knew exactly what he was talking about. He sighed. "These nightmares," he replied quietly, watching the younger man's eyes widen with the realization that he had heard the distress. He watched as the man threw up another wall of steel to hide behind. But he had already started and damn it, he was going to finish. "The doctors mentioned a few things to me, that got me thinking…" he continued, before stopping abruptly at the flash of- was that fear?- in Neal's eyes.

Neal closed his eyes and tried to block it all out. It wasn't happening. Peter was not sitting in front of him trying to talk about the nightmares, or- well, Neal could guess as to what the doctors would have told Peter, and he didn't want to think about it. Unbidden, the memory of his sister swam to the forefront of his mind. He watched her smile, and nod. _I'm so proud of you_, she whispered. His eyes shot open. Why would she be proud? He was a screw up. He was a felon, a con artist. And he had gotten her killed. Through sheer inaction, he had killed her.

Peter watched the struggle. He sat there, helpless, as he watched the tears begin to leak anew out of his friend's eyes. He sat there, guilty, because he knew he was to blame. He took a deep breath, his resolve wavering. "Neal…"

Neal sniffed. "Please, don't," he whispered, no tenacity in the statement at all.

And that made Peter's heart break. He had never seen Neal like this, not even after Kate had died. That had shaken him. This, whatever it was, had _broken_ him. And he had been forced to continue living, with all the little pieces. Never really moving on, never really healing. He slowly got up from his perch and moved to the bed. Sitting down next to his partner, he pretended not to notice the violent flinch. As much as he hated to see the man like this, he knew that talking was necessary, in order to truly put it all behind him and _live_. He shifted so that he was facing the younger man, but he carefully and thoughtfully avoided any contact as he said softly, "You know you can talk to me, about anything, right?"

Neal looked up, meeting the FBI agent's eyes briefly before looking away, focusing on a slight tear in the bedspread next to his right knee. He contemplated that simple sentence, that straightforward question. Could he trust Peter? The man who had chased him for years on end? Who had put him in jail not once, but twice? The man who had given him a second chance, not just in his monumental decision to trust his original offer after the second capture almost two years ago, but every single day he was allowed to go to work in the FBI building. Every day he was allowed to wake up in his small apartment in the townhouse with the ten million dollar view, and go to work, catching criminals like himself, was another day Peter showed his trust in the man, and every single day he was given another chance to prove that that trust wasn't misplaced.

So could he talk to Peter? He probably could, as long as he mentioned nothing that still had a statute of limitations attached to it. But about this? Things so personal he had told no one? Not Kate, not Alex, not even Mozzie, though he suspected the older man had pieced together some idea, through quiet observation over the years. Why was he even considering talking to this man? Why had he considered talking to Elizabeth, whom he, to all intents and purposes, should not even be friends with?

Except he was. Elizabeth and Peter, the first two people he really felt he might be able to trust. Mozzie, Kate, Alex, it wasn't like that. They were friends, Kate had been his girlfriend, the love of his life maybe, but they all wanted something from him in the end. Usually it was illegal. But these two, he just knew all they wanted was for him to be happy. They wanted to help him, and expected nothing in return.

He looked back at the older man sitting next to him. Yes, he could trust Peter. He could, and did, trust him with his life. So really, what was so different about trusting him with his past? He took a breath to steady himself. "Did I ever tell you about my sister?" he asked quietly, his voice cracking over the word.

Peter tried not to look as startled as he was. He was thankful that the man seemed to have overcome some monumental hurtle, and was actually willing to talk, but he had been certain that the conman was an only child. He shook his head slowly. "Everything I ever found said you had no siblings," he drew out slowly.

Neal gave half a dry chuckle. "I wanted it that way," he replied, turning his head and focusing on his knees, which he had drawn to his chest in a protective gesture. His hands absentmindedly began playing with the blanket. He waited a beat, trying to decide how to continue. Thankfully, Peter recognized that any further interruption might make it impossible for the con artist to continue, and he waited patiently for Neal to find the words. "I was ten," he whispered, breaking down slightly, but holding it together long enough to finish the story. "Marni was fifteen. My – dad –" he stumbled over that word, as if he didn't feel comfortable using it, "was drunk. I was already mostly unconscious when he pulled out the wrench. That's when she intervened. She came in and saw what he was doing. She tried to stop him." Neal gasped and the tears began streaming in earnest. "She never even had a chance."

Peter listened, sick to his stomach at what he was hearing. He couldn't think of anything that would help the younger man; it was worse than he had imagined. And he had imagined some pretty bad scenarios. But the next words the former felon spoke made his already cracked heart break even further.

"It was all my fault," Neal whispered, resting his chin on his knees.

Peter shifted. "No, it wasn't," he implored, but Neal didn't seem to hear him.

"I did nothing," he sniffed, burying his face in the bunched up blanket and hugging his arms tighter around his legs.

Peter hesitated briefly, and then reached out to rest a hand lightly on Neal's shoulder. He felt the flinch, but didn't let go. He squeezed lightly, hoping it came across as reassuring. "You could _do_ nothing," he reiterated, trying to get the younger man to listen. Neal just continued to shake with silent sobs. Peter squeezed harder. "Neal, it's not your fault," he said again.

Neal heard what the agent was saying, but he didn't want to believe him. He had gone for so long, believing that Marni's death was on him. He was used to that feeling. He didn't want to let the little sliver of hope that accompanied his friend's words creep in. He didn't want to build it up, only to tear it back down again. But there was something about the way Peter was saying it that made him think, _just maybe,_ the older man was right. He shifted his head up slightly, not quite looking at the man, but watching for his reaction out of the corner of his eye.

Peter took that as a good sign. "Was that the first time he hit you?" he asked, knowing the answer but needing to hear it from Neal.

Neal, who took longer than necessary to answer. He glanced around the room briefly, as if looking for a way out, an escape hatch. Except there wasn't one. And to be perfectly honest, he wasn't sure he wanted one anymore. Continuing to ignore it, to deny it, meant that his father won. And he couldn't live with that fact. "No," he whispered in reply.

If he had been feeling the least bit joyous, Peter would have smiled. Neal had just shared something with him; something intimate, and personal, and it was a huge step forward. It meant that the younger man really did value their relationship. He had finally earned Neal's trust, and knowing the things he knew now, Peter realized just how hard it was for the man to let him in. He glanced briefly towards the door, subconsciously hoping that Elizabeth was standing on the other side, listening, but he knew she never would. She would wait for Neal to come to her. But he needed her guidance right now. He didn't know what to do or say.

But looking back at his partner, he realized that maybe he wasn't doing such a bad job after all. Neal had opened up; he had shared. And he had done that for Peter. Before the FBI agent could ask any more questions or muster up some false reassurances, Neal spoke up again.

"I don't exactly remember when it began," he started hesitantly, as if waiting for Peter to interrupt and say he didn't want to hear it. But the older man remained silent, a quiet wall of support, there for him to lean on if he needed it. And Neal thought he might. But for right now, he was continuing of his own volition. He _wanted_ Peter to know. He _wanted_ to trust the man. So he was taking that step, because he believed, for the first time, that it might actually be worth it. "I really have no memory of any _before_. It's the only version of my father I know…" Neal trailed off. "Or knew," he tacked on as an afterthought.

Peter felt the tendrils of horror clench and tighten in his stomach. He didn't want to hear more, but he needed to. He was torn between the two roads: telling the younger man to stop, to save them both- him from having to listen to it, and Neal from having to speak it; or he could suck it up. He could put aside his own discomfort, his own revulsion, and be the shoulder he could tell his partner needed. He knew without asking that Neal had never spoken of his past to anyone. He could tell that the conman had refused to allow his mind to even _think_ of this horrible past probably since it had happened. He had most likely locked it all up in some dark corner and let it sit there, for years. It may have been effective for a while, but Peter knew what ignoring the problem could do; the feelings of fear, sadness, anxiety, and most of all self-loathing, wouldn't have vanished: they would have been there, festering, growing, until they all came out and Neal wouldn't know how to handle it.

And so he shifted slightly, squeezing Neal's shoulder in reassurance. He may not know what to say, but he didn't think he really needed to say anything. He just needed to show the younger man that he was there, should he need it.

Neal felt the pressure, and slowly he drew his mind back to the present. With the largest effort he had ever made, he forcefully shoved the memories back down. He was an adult now, it was all over. What had happened, had happened; he couldn't change that, he couldn't fix it. But he could pull himself together now, because Peter didn't need to see him like this.

Peter saw his partner's eyes refocus, and knew the younger man was back with him. He wasn't sure that pushing the memories back was the best idea, but for right now, he knew they both needed to take a break. He carefully rose to his feet, and turned towards the door. "I'm going to go get a drink," he said hesitantly, "Do you want something?"

It took Neal a moment to answer, and when he did, his voice was hoarse with repressed emotion. "Water would be great," he replied quietly.

Peter nodded, and was almost out the door when Neal spoke again. "Peter?" Peter turned around and looked back at the conman. Neal managed a small half smile that was but a shadow of the full-fledged Caffrey-winning smile that Peter was so used to seeing. "Thanks."

Peter blinked slowly, and forced himself to focus. He couldn't get distracted by immaterial thoughts that were of no use to anyone. He nodded again, and then exited the room, making for the kitchen.

Neal watched him leave, and used the solitude to compose himself. He hadn't meant to go so deep with the FBI agent, but he hadn't been able to help himself; and that was a startling thought; Neal Caffrey didn't _do_ trust. He wasn't that type. He operated alone, he never let anyone in past the walls, because the less people knew about you, the less they could use against you. But over the months, working with Peter, spending time with Elizabeth, something had changed. He was beginning to believe that just maybe, he didn't have to do it all alone.

And that thought scared him as it comforted him. He had forced down the memories and the emotions that came with them his entire life. He had convinced himself that he could go it alone, that he didn't need any help, because nothing was wrong with him. But slowly breaking down in this comfortable bed, in this tastefully decorated guest room, in this quaint but homey house owned by what could possibly be his two truest friends, he finally admitted to himself that he needed help. He was cracked, shattered, _broken_. And he had been for years. A fresh wave of tears threatened to fall, as Neal made a promise to himself, to finally let someone else in.

_Wow, this took so long to write! Part of it was wanting to get the chapter right, but- well, I have to admit, the larger part was that I got very distracted in the world of Glee fanfiction! =] but it's done now, and I hope you guys like it!_

_And never fear, the 'talk' is not over, there will be more, with both Peter and Elizabeth. So stay tuned, and I'll try not to take too long! Though it might have to wait until after finals are over, but that's just a couple of weeks- OMG, that's scary. I'm pretty much one semester away from being tossed out in the real world with a diploma and told that the rest is up to me. WTF happened to the last four years?_

_Oh yeah, and REVIEW! =] please?_


	6. Chapter 6

**Another chapter! It's been a while, I know, but things are winding down, and I find myself with actual free time! This feels really strange =]**

**I was hoping to get this chapter out before Christmas, but I was having too much fun with my family. And now I'm just depressed, because we were supposed to go to Phoenix this week, but our flight was canceled on account of all the snow, and now I'm stuck in freezing Massachusetts all week, so I'm hoping some therapeutic writing will help =]**

**Disclaimer: I do not own White Collar or any of its characters**

Peter walked into the kitchen, his mind still reeling. He headed straight for the sink and took a glass from the dish drainer. As he filled it with water, he found his thoughts wandering back to the guest room.

"How'd it go?"

Peter jumped and spun around as Elizabeth walked in. She walked up to him and rested her hand on his back, rubbing comfortingly.

Peter leaned into the consolation. He shrugged. "About as well as you could guess," he replied. He really wasn't sure what to say to Neal now. He knew there was more that the younger man wasn't telling him, but he didn't want to push, especially since he wasn't certain how long this new-found trust would last. He turned back to the sink and finished filling the glass. Setting it down on the counter, he twisted slightly and enveloped Elizabeth in a hug.

Surprised, Elizabeth hugged back, leaning into her husband's embrace. She could feel the tension and the worry in him, and she squeezed harder, knowing he needed the comfort.

The two stayed that way for several minutes, until Peter pulled back reluctantly. He picked the glass back up and turned back towards the guest room. He made no move towards it, however, and Elizabeth saw the uncertainty in his gaze. Finally, he looked back to her. "Would you come with me?"

Elizabeth hesitated. "Are you sure he…" she started, but trailed off as Peter shook his head.

"I don't know," he replied honestly, "but I think I need you to." He saw Elizabeth's raised eyebrow, and he elaborated, "I don't know what to say."

Elizabeth nodded. She didn't know if this was such a good idea, but she really wanted to see Neal, to know that he was all right. She mentally chuckled at herself with that thought; of course he wasn't all right. But she wanted to be there for him, even if he wouldn't - or couldn't - tell her anything.

Together, the two of them made their way back down the hall, and towards the guest bedroom.

**XXX**

Neal looked up as the pair entered. He wasn't sure how he felt about Elizabeth being there; part of him was glad, he knew she cared about him a great deal, and he enjoyed her company very much. But he really didn't want yet another person to know the truth, and have that advantage over him. But then again, he _did_ trust her. If there were any people he would trust with his past, it was these two.

Elizabeth saw the hesitation and fear flash in his eyes, and she felt momentarily guilty about being the cause of it. She noticed the tear streaks on his face, and felt her heart crack with the thought of Neal in such emotional pain. She had never seen him cry before, and she didn't like seeing it now.

She moved over to Neal's side and ruffled his hair. "How are you feeling?" she asked, attempting to smile.

Neal glanced up into her face, and realized that she was talking about his current injuries; after all, there was a reason why he was staying in their guest bedroom. He shrugged, and then winced at the reminder. "I'm fine," he replied quietly, putting on a smile.

One more glance into her eyes, and Neal knew he hadn't fooled Elizabeth for one minute. Luckily, she chose not to call him out on the lie.

Peter held out the glass of water, which Neal took with a nod of thanks. Acutely aware of the eyes on him, he raised the glass to his lips and took a sip, wincing slightly in pain as he swallowed.

The silence stretched on and on, as Neal sat fiddling with the glass; he would take a sip occasionally, but for the most part, he just stared at the empty wall directly in front of him, avoiding both Peter and Elizabeth's concerned stares.

Finally, the glass was empty. Neal made a move to reach over and place it on the bedside table, but Elizabeth beat him to it. She took the glass from his hand, chastising lightly, "Remember, Neal, the doctor said not to overreach."

Neal opened his mouth to retort, but changed his mind at the last moment. Instead, he put on a half smile, and simply thanked her.

With nothing to do with his hands, Neal felt even more awkward. He jumped slightly as Elizabeth sat down on the bed next to him.

Both the FBI agent and his wife noticed, but neither chose to comment. Elizabeth simply rested her hand on Neal's shoulder, and squeezed gently. She felt how tense he was; it was as if every fiber of his being was waiting for something dreaded. She started when she realized that it was she who was causing the nerves. She withdrew her hand guiltily, and saw him visibly relax. Her mind was already whirling with the information she had gathered, and now it was just kicked into overdrive. Her mind flashed back to the conversation they had had in the hospital. Memories, he had said. She was starting to imagine what some of those memories might have encompassed. Her resolve to wait until Neal came to her was beginning to dwindle. The young man clearly needed a friend, but she knew he wasn't the kind of person to ever ask for help.

"Neal…" she started, but then stopped. She didn't have anything to say.

Neal looked up at the sound of his name, and focused his gaze over Elizabeth's left shoulder. He didn't want to see the pity in her eyes. He was certain she knew everything, and he felt a bit of nostalgia for the days that were surely behind them now; she would never treat him the same. Neither would Peter. All they would see when they looked at him was someone weak, unable to fight back. The days of teasing banter and witty remarks were over; he was now, officially, a victim. And Neal hated that.

As the silence dragged on, Neal lowered his eyes again, focusing on the slightly frayed edge of the blanket that was draped over his legs. He kept running through all the things he wanted to say in his mind, but he couldn't force his mouth to open and actually speak. He absentmindedly began to play with the frayed blanket, twisting the threads around in his hands, still trying to focus his thoughts and say something.

Elizabeth's hand moved into his field of vision, gently resting on his restless fingers. He stilled immediately, and realized that he had slowly been destroying the blanket. He glanced up. "Sorry," he said sheepishly.

Elizabeth's answering smile wasn't as wide as it could have been, but it was definitely genuine. "It's all right," she assured the conman.

Neal felt his own lips tug up slightly at the caring look he saw on his partner's wife's face. Maybe he shouldn't judge so quickly. Just because they knew didn't automatically mean things would change. He had to shake his head at himself for that foolish thought: things would definitely change; whether or not that change was for the better or worse remained to be seen.

All three of them jumped in the next moment, as a ringing cell phone forced its way through the silence. Peter pulled out the phone with an apology, and looked at the caller ID.

"It's Jones," he said by way of explanation, pressing the call button on his way out of the room.

Both Neal and Elizabeth watched as the FBI agent closed the door behind him. Elizabeth turned back to her husband's partner and took advantage of the solitude. She loved her husband, very much, but she knew he was absolutely clueless when it came to emotions and feelings. She gently squeezed her hand, which was still placed over Neal's. He looked up at her, trepidation clear on his face. Elizabeth gave him a reassuring smile. "How are you, really?" she asked, more of a statement than a question. She knew he had been lying before, and she was going to call him on it. Only this time, she wasn't just talking about his current physical injuries.

Neal swallowed.

_I'm so sorry this took so long! I wrote about half of it, and then I ran into a major wall. I literally started writing almost three weeks ago, but then I just lost the inspiration. I have a general idea of where I want the story to go, but getting from point A to point B is a long and winding road, and I'm kind of stuck on how to get there. But bear with me, I'll figure it out eventually =]_

_As always, please review!_


	7. Chapter 7

**Sorry it's been so long! I lost my inspiration for a while, but I'm really trying to buckle down and finish this story. I really wanted to have this out in time for the premiere last week, but, well, I have the attention span of a rodent. And speaking of, that premiere was great! Am I right?**

**Disclaimer: not mine**

Neal tried and failed to start talking for the fifth time since Peter had left the room. He really wanted to open up, but he couldn't break down the barriers he had spent his whole life building, despite the fact that he knew he could trust the Burkes.

Intellectually, he knew he could trust both Peter and Elizabeth, but a lifetime of self-preservation and keeping people out was not as easy to overcome as he would have liked.

Elizabeth watched him struggle, and felt her heart crack open at the pain she could clearly see in the young man's eyes. Slowly, and giving Neal time to react, she reached out and took his hand, grasping tightly and reassuringly.

Neal gripped back, mouth twisting slightly in a frown, but appreciating the gesture for what it was: an offer of friendship, and offer to listen without judging. Whenever he was ready.

He glanced at the door again, not sure if he wanted Peter to come back and interrupt, or if he was hoping the FBI agent would stay away and give him more time with Elizabeth. Something about the woman's maternal instincts that made him more willing to open up to her than her husband.

He turned his gaze downwards again, focusing on his lap and the hands entwined on top of the blanket.

Finally, Elizabeth felt she needed to break the silence. "Neal." The conman made no movement, and continued to stare at his hands. "Hey." Elizabeth tried to put a smile into her voice, even though she felt no amusement, whatsoever. Neal glanced up briefly, but returned to his previous position. She knew he was listening, though, so she continued. "You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to, and you don't have to tell me everything." She paused briefly to let that sink in, before she said one final thing and fell silent. "Why don't you just start with one story; just tell me one thing, anything you want."

Neal listened to everything the woman said, and appreciated it very much. She wasn't pushing him to divulge his deepest, darkest secrets; but at the same time, she was giving him a nudge to start talking. To tell her something, anything, about his past.

After several minutes sitting in silence, Neal made his decision. Without looking up, he squeezed Elizabeth's hand tightly, and started talking.

_

* * *

It was dark out by the time Neal regained consciousness. Even though he was aware of the world around him, he refused to – that's what he told himself, though he knew it was more that he physically couldn't – pick himself up off of the floor, where he was currently lying._

_It could have been several minutes or several hours, but eventually, the teenager became aware of the sound of snoring coming from somewhere nearby. A little more focus, and he was able to lift his head up to determine exactly where he was. Recognizing the large dark mass on his right as the couch in the living room, he winced slightly at the headache that came with all of the movement._

_The snoring seemed to be coming from the couch. The back was preventing him from seeing exactly who was making the noise, but he didn't need to guess. He remembered the evening's activities perfectly. He _was_ a genius, after all._

_Taking a deep breath to prepare himself for the pain he knew was about to intensify, he was still caught off guard by the stabbing feeling that was coming from his chest. Using his arms, he slowly levered himself off the floor slightly, rising inch – by – inch to try and acclimate himself to the change in pressure. He still couldn't stop the wave of dizziness that overcame him. Clenching his teeth to stop from coughing or making any other sound, he rose to his knees, freeing his arms to curl protectively around his stomach; some archaic childhood defense mechanism had him acting as if that small gesture would take away some of the hurt. It didn't work._

_He couldn't stop the small gasp that pushed its way past his lips. Glancing quickly towards the couch, he paused for a moment to determine that the unseen man had not woken. There was a grunt and a snort, and then the loud snoring picked back up. _

_Breathing a quiet sigh of relief, Neal took another breath to steady himself – this time he was mindful of the limitations and took care not to breathe too deeply – and carefully pulled himself to his feet. _

_Taking slow steps, knowing that if he faltered and went down again he wouldn't be able to get back up, he made his way carefully towards the back of their small house, grateful that his bedroom was on the first floor._

_Once inside his room with the door closed, Neal took a moment to look around. From the cracks on the far side wall, where his father had decided to teach him a lesson on not breathing too loudly when he was drunk, to the broken bookshelf that he hadn't gotten around to fixing on the other side of the room, that he had stumbled into when the old man had decided to smack him around just for the hell of it._

_Walking to his closet, he pulled out an old backpack and, quietly but quickly, he began to throw various necessities into it. He added several changes of clothes, a few notebooks filled with various schoolwork and other extracurricular studies, and his sketchbook. _

_Pausing there for a moment, Neal considered. He moved over to his desk and opened a drawer; rifling around, he pulled out an old photo album and held it in his hands briefly, before dropping the backpack and sitting down at the desk. Resting the album on his knees, he thumbed through the pages, stopping at one in particular. It showed a young woman, early twenties; her head was thrown back in laughter as her arms wrapped around a little boy of two years old. The young Neal's face mirrored his mother's, the joy obvious to anyone with eyes._

_Neal ran his finger down the picture, longing for those days. When his mother was alive, when he knew what it was like to have happiness in his life. He glanced up towards the door nervously, and then back down at the photo. Those days were over. His mother was dead and she wasn't coming back. His sister had joined their mother and he couldn't do a thing to change it. He had been left all alone with his father, and he couldn't take it anymore. He was tired of being used as a punching bag; he was tired of being told how worthless and useless he was; he was tired of being made to feel like a waste of space on a daily basis. If he stayed in this house any longer, he knew he would either be killed by his father, or he would end up killing himself. He couldn't handle either of those options, so he was going for door number three. He was getting out before it was too late._

_Closing the album and stuffing it into the backpack, he zipped up the bag and slung it over his shoulder. He stood up and, with one last glance around the messy room, he moved towards the door. _

_Still mindful of the sleeping man in the living room, Neal made his way down the hall and out of the house that had been his hell for so long._

_Once on the other side of the door, the teenager let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. That done, he looked first right, and then left, wondering where he was supposed to go. Another stabbing pain in his chest told him a hospital was probably a good choice. But he was wary of doctors. He didn't want them to ask questions. He just wanted to leave this hellhole and start over. How, he didn't know; but anywhere was better than here. _

* * *

Elizabeth listened in silence, aware of the tears running down her face, but not really caring. It was several minutes after Neal trailed off in silence before she noticed. She took a deep, steadying breath, realizing that the young man was waiting for her to say something. "How old were you?" she managed to get out, little more than a whisper.

Neal shrugged, and then winced. He really needed to remember to stop doing that. "Sixteen," he replied, a little _too_ casually.

Even though she had known he was a teenager, she still couldn't stop the small gasp of pain for the young boy he had been at the time. "I'm so sorry," she said shakily. She knew it wasn't what he needed or wanted, but she felt like she needed to say it.

Neal nodded absentmindedly. He didn't want her sympathy or her pity, but he knew that what she was offering was more than that. She was offering a helping hand; something to hold on to as he attempted to navigate the minefield that was his past.

Elizabeth wiped the tears from her eyes and attempted a reassuring smile at the man in front of her. All she wanted was to be there for him. She couldn't imagine what he had been through, and while a part of her could understand slightly better what had drawn him to the criminal world, the larger part of her felt nothing but amazement for the kind and gentle, caring and compassionate man he had become. "What happened next?" she asked, trying to bridge the gap between when he had left and when he had first shown up on the criminal radar.

Neal almost smiled. Almost. He managed a half-smirk that faded quickly, though the fondness for the memory didn't disappear completely from the laugh lines around his eyes. He focused on his hands, wrapped in the blanket covering his lap. "I went to a clinic, you know, to make sure I wasn't going to die." He chuckled nervously, but it died after a moment. "Mozzie found me living on the streets a couple months later."

Elizabeth started. She had known the conman and the conspiracy nut were close, but she hadn't known exactly how close. "Did he know?" she asked breathlessly; she still wasn't sure what was causing Neal to tell her all of this, but she was willing to ride the wave as long as he was willing to share.

Neal shook his head carefully, and then paused and frowned. "I'm not sure how much he knows," the former felon admitted. "He never asked and I never shared, but…" he stopped again, trying to put the thought into words. "Mozzie might be paranoid, and he might have some… odd tendencies, but he's way more perceptive than people give him credit for." The half-smirk found its way back to his face as he lost himself in more memories. "And he was an orphan, he knows about the flinches and the distant looks, the memories that take over your mind and refuse to let you go until they've played out…" He trailed off briefly before adding, "the nightmares probably didn't help." Elizabeth looked like she wanted to say something, but Neal cut off any half-consoling thought she may have voiced. "I'm sure Mozzie knows some of it, I think I was quite vocal during some of those dreams, but I never… shared… anything with him. I've never told anyone."

Neal glanced up briefly, unwilling to look Elizabeth in the eye. He was afraid of how she might react to all of the new information she had learned.

He was completely surprised when she suddenly leaned over and gripped him in a tight – and somewhat painful, but he wasn't complaining – hug. She held on, trying to pass along the feeling of friendship and caring; trying to tell him without words that she didn't care about his past, that she would always be there for him. She thought he might understand when he tentatively reached up to hug her back.

She felt the tears hit her shoulder, and her own threatened to fall again, but she held them back; she needed to be strong right now. For him. He needed to let go, and she needed to let him. He needed a shoulder, literally at the moment, and she could not put into words how happy she was that he let her be that shoulder.

**XXX**

Peter put a hand to the door, his other clenched around his cell phone. The call with Jones hadn't lasted that long, but he had stopped himself from re-entering the room when he had heard Neal talking to Elizabeth. He was glad that she was the one in there, she had a much better bedside manner than he did, and yet he couldn't help but feel… jealous. Neal was his partner, shouldn't he trust Peter more than Elizabeth? _He already did_, a voice inside of him whispered. _He told you about his sister first. He opened up to you._

It took him several moments before he recognized the incoherent dialogue behind the door for actual words. Listening in silence, he was unable to keep the horror out of his eyes or the shock off of his face.

He couldn't move away from the door, even though he knew that Neal would not want him to hear the story like this, and Elizabeth would frown at him and make him sleep in the driveway for eavesdropping. It wasn't right. And yet he couldn't move away.

Until he heard the unmistakable sounds of Neal breaking down on the other side of the door. Taking a step back as if shocked, he moved back down the hall and dialed a familiar number. It took only two rings for someone to pick up. "Jones, ignore what I just told you, I'm not coming back today." Peter was hardly able to force the words out in more than a breathy whisper. The young agent on the other end knew immediately something was wrong, but he also knew better than to question his boss. Peter cleared his throat and continued, "Tell Hughes I'm taking the rest of the week off." Barely waiting until he heard the confirmation, Peter hung up and set his phone down on the counter, taking some time to collect himself.

With a deep breath, the agent turned and headed back down the hall. With another steadying breath, he carefully pushed open the door to the guest bedroom and walked in.

_Well, I hope I made up for the delay with a nice, long chapter! I'm not so great at endings, so I'm kind of floundering, trying to figure out how to wrap this up. It's getting there, maybe a couple more chapters. _

_But I'm not going to try and predict anything, I'll just keep writing until the story comes to a natural close. And I'm fully enjoying the journey!_

_Please review!_


	8. Chapter 8

**Thank you all for the wonderful reviews! **

**I apologize for my absence of late, for the last few weeks. I needed to figure out where to go next, and then I dug a hole and buried myself in it, working on finishing my senior film script. But now it's done (whether or not it's actually good is another story), so here's an update!**

**Disclaimer: I only own my own thoughts**

Peter looked up from his computer, and took in the busy floor outside his office. His eyes automatically found the desk where Neal usually sat. He told himself quite firmly that his heart _did not_ clench almost painfully at the empty space. He blinked away the sudden sting in his eyes, and looked back down.

One more glance out the clear office wall showed him Jones, making his way up the stairs. He cleared his throat and shuffled a few papers around, attempting to look busy.

Jones hesitated at the doorway, knocking lightly on the frame. When Peter looked at him, he walked in, setting a folder on the desk.

Peter picked up the file, rifling through it.

"We're at a road block here, I thought maybe Neal could take a look," Jones offered, stepping back slightly when Peter looked up sharply.

The FBI agent nodded, glancing back down. "I'll make sure he gets it," he responded quietly.

Jones nodded in agreement, and then hesitated. He was curious, but didn't know quite how to broach the subject. He looked at Peter like a father, a brother, and a friend, all at the same time. He trusted his boss, and he would follow Peter to the edge of the world and back. And Neal had definitely grown on him. The young conman may be a criminal, but he was smart, and reliable, and a good man to have on your side. At least that's what Jones thought. Neal was definitely a friend, and sometimes he could even see him as a brother.

And he was worried. Neal hadn't looked good the last time he had seen him.

Peter could see the uncertainty in the younger man's eyes and posture. He sighed, and nodded to the empty seat in front of him. Jones needed no more encouragement. He sat down, clasping his hands in his lap, trying not to appear too nervous. "How's Neal?" he asked.

Peter sighed. He wanted to bury his head in his hands, but he didn't want to show any sort of uneasiness in front of the younger man. "He's fine," the agent said instead.

Jones raised his eyebrow but didn't contradict. He could tell his boss was lying, but he wasn't going to call him on it. Things had been tense around the office lately. It just didn't seem right without Neal. Which in itself was strange, since the criminal hadn't actually been working with them all that long. And then there was the fact that he was a _criminal_. Criminals and cops just weren't supposed to go together. They just weren't.

But Neal fit. He wasn't your typical crook. He cared. He wasn't just in it for himself. He didn't seem like the kind of conman who only wanted the big score. Even before working with the FBI, he always seemed like he was committing those crimes for a reason. Jones hadn't been around the first time Peter had caught Neal, but he had brushed up on the man's history – watching interview tapes and surveillance tapes, reading transcripts – after Neal had escaped. A man who escaped from prison with just months left on his sentence, just to see a girl, could never fit the typical criminal persona.

Jones needed Neal to come back. The office wasn't the same without him. The job wasn't the same without him. Peter wasn't the same without him. Jones couldn't figure out just what it was that had changed his boss so much, but Peter just wasn't Agent Burke unless Neal Caffrey was there.

It wasn't Agent Burke who was sitting across from him right now. Peter looked… worn. There was something wrong. Jones was an FBI agent. He was trained to notice the little details. And he knew Peter was functioning on little to no sleep; he knew Peter's mind was somewhere else.

So Jones didn't challenge his boss when the older man lied straight to his face. Because he understood. He didn't like it, but he understood. Because he felt the same way. Even not knowing what exactly was wrong, he was worried. About the conman, about the agent… he knew things would have to come to a head soon. It was a fact of life. All he could do was prepare. And promise to be there when it all fell apart.

Jones acquiesced and stood up, taking a step towards the door before Peter's voice called after him. "Clinton." Jones turned around, his apprehension heightened by the quiet desolation in his boss' voice. Peter wasn't looking at him: he was staring fixedly at the corner of his desk. "Neal will be fine."

Because it sounded more like Peter was trying to convince himself than Jones, the younger agent simply nodded, and left the office, making his way quickly down the stairs and back to his desk and the pile of paperwork he had been putting off completing, where he was unsurprised to find Diana waiting.

Jones shook his head as he sat down, an act that did not go unnoticed by the female agent. She twisted around slightly, resting her hip against the desk as she faced her fellow agent. "What's the story?" she asked, her voice uncharacteristically gentle.

Jones shrugged. "Peter says Neal's going to be fine."

Diana shifted. Her hand twitched as she felt the urge to comfort the agent. He was clearly having a hard time. Not that she wasn't, she had just been with the Bureau longer. She was more used to the dangers of the job. Working in white-collar crimes didn't mean no one ever got hurt; it just meant there was less of a chance of that happening.

But that was about agents. Their consultants weren't supposed to get hurt. They weren't supposed to put them in that kind of danger. But Neal was Neal. He didn't play by the 'rules'. He didn't fit into any preconceived notions. He wasn't their typical consultant, and he wasn't their average criminal. He was a category all to himself. He worked well with their team; he was a member of their unit, and she could barely remember a time before him. She was glad to be back in New York. Washington just didn't hold a candle to Peter and Neal.

Neal, who had tackled an armed man because he had taken down Peter. Because Peter had been in danger. Neal, who hated violence, had tried to take down a criminal. Consultants were supposed to do just that: consult. But Neal took his deal with the FBI to a whole new level. He didn't just come in on certain cases: he lived and breathed this work. He took the cases home, he honestly wanted to help them. Why would a criminal be so willing to change sides? Even the deal Caffrey had made with the Bureau didn't seem like incentive enough for the young conman to eagerly help those who had spent months on end chasing him. Those who had made life incredibly difficult for him. It just didn't fit.

A lot of things about Neal didn't fit. But Diana didn't want to stick her nose in something that was none of her business. Unless it was. Unless someone asked her to. She could feel the tension radiating from Peter just as well as Jones could. She had watched the older man work himself half to death trying to catch his then adversary. She had seen the fascination, the confusion, and the annoyance. She had tried to help as best she could, but she had watched as Neal Caffrey had taken hold of Peter's life, and refused to let go.

And when the young man had begun working with them, she had watched the annoyance turn to friendly care, which had slowly morphed into brotherly, and sometimes even _fatherly_, affection. Peter cared about his consultant, more so than he probably should, and yet he didn't seem to be able to help himself. She had spent many evenings listening to him rant about some of the childhood antics Neal pulled. But beneath the whining and the exasperation, Diana could detect an undercurrent of amusement and pride. He liked to pretend to be annoyed, but he really enjoyed working with Neal. Their relationship had quickly blossomed in the months after Neal had made his deal. She had watched Neal flash his charming smile, flip that damn hat around, act the cool, calm, and collected, confident ex-con. She had watched Neal bluff and pretend, acting like nothing in the world could ever hurt him. And she had watched the mask lower slightly over time; Neal had let Peter in. He had trusted Peter, and Diana was good at reading people: she knew it wasn't something the conman did often.

So to see Peter now, functioning without Neal like he had never worked alone before, was slightly disconcerting. It was amazing how one man could make them all feel so deeply, without even trying. The man wasn't even an agent, for Christ's sake.

But that didn't matter. She never would have thought she'd be able to work with a criminal, she never would have even considered it. Until Neal. Until one Neal Caffrey had wormed his way into her life and she could now never imagine working without him. She wanted him to come back. She _needed_ him to come back. Seeing him lying on that floor was just as heart stopping as seeing any FBI agent in that position.

Diana glanced up to Peter's office, watching the man pretend to be busy on his computer. She knew he probably wasn't doing anything productive. Just like she knew that he needed to go through the motions. She recognized the look in his eyes. He needed to pretend that he was useful, at least for a little while.

Looking back at Jones, she quirked her lips in a facsimile of a smile, letting none of her inner turmoil through in the expression. "Good," she declared, pushing herself off the desk, "This place is way to quiet without Neal." On that note, she made her way back to her own desk, and her own pile of paperwork.

* * *

Elizabeth hurried to the door, trying to get to her insistent visitor before his unrelenting pounding woke Neal up. She had just gotten the young man back to sleep after what some might call 'one hell of a nightmare'. She just called it horrible. It was physically painful for her to see her friend hurting so much, and not be able to do anything about it.

Opening the door, she was startled, but not quite surprised to see Mozzie standing on her doorstep, looking characteristically nervous. "Mozzie!" Elizabeth stepped back, giving the small man room to enter.

Moz looked around anxiously, before taking a step forward. Elizabeth closed the door behind him, as he made his way into the dining room. He ignored the gesture to sit down, instead opting to stand awkwardly next to the table. "How's Neal?" he asked, voice quiet. He didn't want to admit that he was worried, but he was still feeling unsettled from the last time he had seen his friend. Neal definitely wasn't OK, and he didn't know what he could do to help.

Elizabeth sighed and took a seat, resting her head in her hands as she took in the paranoid man in front of her. She could see the worry in the way he stood, straight and rigid, refusing to look at her. "He's asleep right now."

Mozzie nodded absentmindedly. "But how is he?" he asked again.

Elizabeth looked down, studying the grain of the table as she contemplated how to answer. She knew what he was really asking. Mozzie was probably Neal's best friend. She knew that they had known each other since the younger man had been a teenager, but she still didn't know how much Moz knew. Neal seemed to think he was at lest semi-aware, but that was far from fact. "He's… a little banged up," Elizabeth said haltingly. "The doctor said it'll take some time, but he'll heal."

Mozzie finally turned to look her in the eyes. She was slightly shocked by the depth of emotion she saw there. She knew he wasn't asking about the physical trauma. That look was enough to convince her that Moz knew.

Elizabeth sighed again. "I think he's having some trouble… reliving… things."

The older man nodded and turned away to study the wall, lost in his own thoughts. He could imagine exactly what kinds of adverse affects getting beat up would have on his friend. It had been so long since he had seen Neal think about his past, and Mozzie really wished he didn't have to now.

Elizabeth noted the distant expression, and winced sympathetically. She could see his mind whirling with thoughts, and she didn't think they were good ones. She reached out to clasp one of his hands, squeezing reassuringly. When he looked at her again, she smiled. The two stayed in companionable silence for several minutes, both taking comfort from the company.

Mozzie was the one to let go. He pulled his arm back, twisting his hands together. He couldn't figure out why the woman seemed to know exactly what he was thinking. Maybe it was just more conspiracies. Or maybe…

"What do you know?" he asked, half suspicious, half curious.

Elizabeth studied Mozzie's expression, perhaps over-analyzing, but not able to stop. She felt herself slump slightly, as she tried to figure out how to answer that question. Finally, she turned it around on him. "I should ask you the same thing," she shot back.

Mozzie drooped. Literally. His shoulders hunched, and he turned his gaze down to the floor, studying the wood beneath his shoes. But he didn't answer.

Elizabeth could see the tension in the older man. She could also see something that looked vaguely like guilt. She remained silent, though, letting him work through a response.

When it came, it was quiet. Mozzie was still staring resolutely at the floor, gaze intent. "Neal and I met when he was sixteen," the criminal said to his shoes.

Elizabeth nodded. "I know," she whispered, unable to speak any louder.

Moz looked up suddenly, fixing the woman with an intense stare. "What do you mean, 'you _know_'?" he asked, somewhat accusingly.

Elizabeth tensed slightly at the vehemence in the small man's voice. When she spoke, her tone was soothing. "Neal told me."

That surprised Mozzie. He knew for a fact that Neal didn't talk about his past. He had found the teenager living on the streets, and offered him a place to stay; it had taken several nights of nightmares and screaming before he had built up enough of a picture to understand just what had put the teen in the position he had found him in.

But even then, it wasn't because the young man had actually told him anything. He knew he was considered by most to be a paranoid borderline-schizophrenic, but that didn't mean he was stupid. He knew more than he suspected Neal thought he did, but he wasn't going to bring up the memories that had taken his friend a lifetime to bury. He wouldn't bring Neal back to that time.

Moz collapsed into the seat across from Elizabeth, who raised her eyebrows slightly, but didn't comment. He looked up at her briefly, but then fixed his gaze on a specific spot on the table.

Elizabeth leaned forward, shifting in her seat slightly. "Mozzie?" He didn't answer, wouldn't look up. Elizabeth tried again. "Mozzie, what do you know?"

After several minutes, the - alleged - criminal finally spoke, still staring fixedly at one specific spot on the table. "Most of it," he said quietly. Before Elizabeth could comment, he plowed forward, as if he had been waiting years to get this off his chest, and nothing was going to stop him now. "Not that he ever told me anything, but when Neal has a nightmare, he can get pretty vocal. Between the screams and the crying, it wasn't that hard to figure it all out."

Elizabeth swallowed, feeling herself tear up. Her heart ached for all the young man had been forced to go through.

They fell into silence again, Elizabeth trying to digest all that she had learned, and Moz trying to figure out why he had divulged so much to the wife of a fed. Although, as things went, one could do worse than Mr. and Mrs. Suit.

Finally, Elizabeth stood up. "Would you like something to eat?" she asked, visibly shaken, but trying to keep her tone light. Mozzie looked at her, expression suspicious. Elizabeth managed a small half-smile, knowing what he was thinking. "I promise I won't poison it," she joked, managing a shaky smile.

Mozzie stared for another moment, and then nodded slowly.

Under that intense gaze, Elizabeth moved into the kitchen, leaving the older man alone to his thoughts.

_Wow, that took much longer than I thought it would. This was another chapter I couldn't figure out how to end. And it didn't really get there, but I want to get an update out, and I feel like I could break where I did. I think this one was much more reflective, and alas, no Neal. This seemed more like a filler chapter, but I liked getting into some other people's heads for a change - see what Jones and Diana are going through, you know? Ehh, I don't know, but it was fun to write, even if it took so long =]  
_

_I am so sorry for the wait, but I hope this makes up for it._

_Please review!_


	9. Chapter 9

**Wow, I am soooo embarrassed at how long it took me to get this update out. I guess I ran into a rather large road block, and then I just lost my inspiration for this story (in addition to getting lost inside the world of both Star Trek and Glee fanfiction for several months). And then I had finals, and graduation, and now I'm out here in the real world, unemployed, and with way too much time on my hands. So I'm back. And I feel like I'm promising this in all my stories, but it's true: no matter how long it might seem between updates, I won't abandon any of my stories. I **_**will**_** finish this. I hate it when people start a story, and then don't finish it, and we're all left hanging. That won't happen here. I promise. =]**

**Disclaimer: I still don't own White Collar**

Elizabeth looked up as she heard the guest bedroom door close, and watched silently as Mozzie re-entered the living room. She offered up a reserved smile that hopefully conveyed her understanding and concern.

Mozzie returned the smile with a nod, and then left quickly, before his face crumbled. That had been one of the hardest hours he had ever had to live through. He was thankful to Elizabeth for leaving the two of them alone, while they had a talk that was long overdue. Even with what Mozzie already knew about his friend's childhood, it still hadn't been easy. Neal had shared, more than he had probably ever intended to, for which Mozzie didn't know whether to be grateful or worried. So many memories, so many stories; so many recollections of piercing nightmares and sleepless nights. The conspiracy nut could remember comforting his younger friend after some pretty horrific nights. He had always wondered, and now he knew.

He wished he didn't.

He wished he could take it all back.

He just wanted to take it back.

Little did he know, Neal was currently wishing the same thing.

Not that he necessarily regretted sharing with his friend. Well, maybe a little, but he trusted Mozzie. Plus, he knew that after all those times he had woken the older man up with his screaming and crying, he probably owed him.

What Neal wished was that he could just forget about it. Talking about the past only brought it all to the forefront of his mind, and all he wanted to do was move on.

Of course, that just made him shake his head at the part of him that felt that way; he hadn't been able to move on, ever. And he probably wouldn't be until he at least confronted his past and acknowledged that it had screwed him up. Until he admitted that he wasn't all right, and that it was _all right_ that it wasn't all right, he wouldn't be able to move on and live. He was too stuck in the past to look to the future.

Neal sighed, and glanced at the bedroom door. He was waiting for it to open; waiting for Elizabeth, or possibly Peter, to come in to check on him. He knew he and Mozzie had been talking for a while, though he wasn't sure exactly how long. He appreciated Elizabeth leaving them alone, even though he knew she had to be concerned. And that in and of itself confused him. Yes, he worked with her husband, and yes, he spent a great deal of time with her; but that didn't necessarily mean much by itself.

After all, it's not like Elizabeth owed him anything. She was just the wife of the FBI agent he made a deal with once upon a time.

The two wonderful people whose house he currently inhabited were so different from what Neal was used to. Not that that was a bad thing, it was just… different. Neal wasn't used to having people care. Not like Peter and Elizabeth cared. His other friends, his criminal friends, they always seemed to want something. Even Mozzie always seemed to be working a higher angle with him.

But the FBI agent and his wife always seemed to have his best interests at heart, even if he didn't want to see it at the time. It puzzled him, and bewildered him, and gave him a feeling of warmth that he hadn't experienced in so long, the concept was almost foreign.

A gentle knock on the door broke him out of his contemplative thoughts. Glancing up, he allowed a small half smile. "Come in," he called out quietly.

Elizabeth pushed open the door and poked her head in first, taking stock of the conman who had quickly become a staple in her life, to the point where she couldn't imagine it without him. Seeing the smile, she quirked her lips up slightly, and walked in, sitting on the edge of the bed, giving him his space while at the same time showing her support.

Neal read into the position exactly as it was, and the feeling of warmth intensified. How did this woman get so good at this?

Elizabeth let her smile widen slightly. "How'd it go?" she asked, voice quiet and comforting.

Neal glanced down, the smile quickly leaving his face as his eyes darkened. The color turned quickly from the clear blue they usually were to a more intense, deep blue. It reminded Elizabeth of nothing so much as the color of the sea after a storm. He started to shrug, until he remembered why it was that he should be avoiding that gesture at the moment. "About as well as can be expected," he replied, tone of voice matching the storm in his eyes.

Elizabeth winced slightly. Honestly, what had she been expecting? She felt so far out of her element, she had no idea what to do or say. The only thing she knew was that this was her friend, and he needed her. So she would be there for him, no matter what. It might be hard for her, but she had to remember his position. No matter what she was feeling, it had to be fifty times worse for him.

To her surprise, Neal wasn't done talking. His hands stayed busy playing with the blanket that was currently draped over his legs, and he still wouldn't meet her eyes, but he kept speaking. "I'm not sure what I thought it would be, but I guess I owed Mozzie at least some sort of explanation." He sounded more like he was speaking to himself, than Elizabeth.

And yet, she couldn't help but break in. "Neal, you don't owe anyone anything," she stressed, leaning forward slightly, trying to get him to understand. "If you want to share, that's up to you. And you know that we, me and Peter, and Mozzie, and probably several other people, will be here if and when you want to talk. But you should never feel like you _have_ to tell us anything."

She broke off, and waited for a response, content to watch Neal, and try to read his reaction. He seemed to actually be listening, though she didn't think he liked what he heard. But the important thing was that he had heard it.

The silence was broken by the sound of a door opening and closing. Elizabeth glanced towards the bedroom door, though most of her mind was centered on the sight of Neal flinching violently out of the corner of her eye as she turned.

A few moments later, and Peter walked through the open door, leaning on the frame lightly as he appraised the sight in front of him. Neal looked pretty much the same as the last time Peter had seen him – awake, at least. Watching Neal sleep wasn't something Peter wanted to advertise, though he had to admit, it was an enlightening experience. It was amazing to watch the tension and stress melt away; emotions so familiar to the young conman's everyday expression, they often went unnoticed. But asleep… unconscious, Neal looked like the young boy Peter had always imagined: full of life, and eager to live. He looked content. At peace.

At least, until the first time Peter had caught his friend in the middle of a nightmare. The illusion had been shattered after that. He could no longer hide behind the illusion that Neal was simply an intelligent young man who had turned to a life of crime because of boredom. He had to face the fact that there were real horrors in the conman's past. Things no one should ever have to deal with, should never know. Neal knew about things like fear, and pain, and sorrow. For all the smiles and charm, there was way more to Neal Caffrey than anyone could see. Neal hid behind his façade, never showing his true face. Sometimes Peter wondered if Neal Caffrey was even his real name. He doubted it.

The three of them stayed in silence for several minutes. Neither Peter nor Elizabeth wanted to be the one to break the uneasy calm, and Neal was simply reveling in the fact that the two of them were _there_, quietly comforting, waiting for him to make the first move. They wanted him to come to them. They wanted him to trust them.

They wanted him to believe in them.

A simple theory, yet so difficult when put into practice. Though Neal had been trying, perhaps harder than he had ever attempted anything before. It wasn't easy, letting someone in. But he had committed to his hope, or what might now be belief or _faith_, that these two were different.

So he could do this. For them. For his sister, who had done her best to protect him, and had paid the ultimate price for it. For the scared boy he had once been. For the criminal he had become, the man who had changed aliases the way some people changed channels on the television, never staying one person for too long, creating new identities so that he either couldn't be found by the man he had run away from, or to see if anyone cared enough to come looking; to this day, he still wasn't sure which.

He could do this. Perhaps one day, he might be able to say he had done it for the man he could become. The man he was slowly becoming.

It was these thoughts that allowed Neal to twist one side of his mouth up in a facsimile of a smile. "Peter," he said dryly, looking the older man in the eye for the first time in what felt like ages, at least to the FBI agent. "How was work?"

Peter held in a wince, and tried not to squirm under the intensity of his partner's stare. He had to remind himself that it felt good – and was perhaps progress? – that Neal was finally looking at him again. Instead, he forced himself to shrug casually, as he shifted his weight to his other foot. "Oh you know," he replied with a touch of good humor, "another day, another dollar."

"You got a raise?" Neal cut in with a smirk that felt much more real than any of the smiles that had adorned his face recently.

It had been so long since Peter had seen this Neal; he paused, allowing a much longer silence than he would have had that remark been made a few weeks earlier. When he got his footing back, he returned the joke with an answering grin. "At least I can afford my own place," he shot back, no heat in the quip, just friendly banter.

Neal's answering smile was full of charm and seemed almost _coy_. "But you're not the one with the ten million dollar view," he replied quietly, settling back against the sheets.

His arm brushed against Elizabeth's leg, and she felt like holding her breath; she wasn't a therapist, and she wasn't a federal agent, but she had taken a psychology course or two in her youth, and as such, could read the openness in the position Neal had just taken up. She could remember classes spent discussing small signs in physical movement, little ticks and what they meant. She could almost feel him relaxing in their presence. It warmed her heart, and made her so incredibly proud of him.

A noise from the living room made all three of them glance towards the area in question. Elizabeth saw Neal tense slightly, and she suddenly felt sorrow; it seemed like they had been making progress, up until that point. Now, Neal was shuttered, closed. Again.

Peter turned back to face the conman. He shifted yet again, and both Neal and Elizabeth could see the nervousness in his stance. He coughed. "I brought a couple of visitors." Neal remained stoic, simply watching, observing. Peter felt he had to elaborate. "They wanted to make sure you were all right themselves. For some reason, I don't think they really believed me."

The unspoken '_They probably didn't believe you because you didn't believe you'_ hung in the air for several moments, before Neal nodded slowly. He did nothing else. Just watched as Peter squirmed.

Finally, the consultant shifted, moving towards the edge of the bed as he made to stand up.

Both Peter and Elizabeth protested as soon as it was clear what he was attempting to do.

But Neal simply shook his head and the look on his face had the two of them quickly receding. "I'm fine," he ground out, even as he tried not to wince in pain as his broken ribs throbbed, his shoulder ached, and a very bad, very _loud_ marching band attempted to take up residence inside his head. _Well, it's not like he hadn't had worse things inside his head_.

Moving slowly, and giving himself time to acclimate to being vertical – it really had been a while – he waved off any potential offer to help, and headed towards the door.

As he got closer, Peter stepped out of the way, only slightly, so that the younger man could pass.

His visitors were whom he expected. Jones and Diana, waiting uncomfortably by the door, moved forward as soon as he entered, looking slightly relieved, and more than a little worried.

Which once again surprised him. Peter and Elizabeth he could sort of understand, now, but these two? He worked with them, sure, but why should they care? They didn't know him on the same level as Peter. To them, he was just another criminal. Wasn't he?

He blinked, and then realized that there was more to their worry than just his physical injuries. With a start, he saw himself as how they must be seeing him, and internally winced at how far his mask had slipped. He didn't think they had ever seen him without a smile, or the cocky and confident charm he wore like a cloak, distracting from the insecurities and uncertainties.

He could try to cover it up, paste a smile on his face and be the man they were so used to, but at this point, he wasn't sure it would be believable, and more than that, he just couldn't summon the energy to even try. So instead, he let one side of his mouth migrate upwards; it was a small smile, much less… _Neal_… but much more real. His eyes were still tired and full of half-hidden ghosts – not that he thought either FBI agent could see them, unless they were more acquainted with his past than he had thought. He took one more step forward, and then stopped, waiting. After several moments of silence, in which he noted the two agents growing increasingly uncomfortable, he raised one eyebrow.

Finally, Jones coughed. "How are you feeling?" he asked, somewhat lamely, but it was the best he could think of.

Neal's smile widened a little more, as he laughed internally at the other man's awkwardness. He saw Diana's twitch, and he knew she was physically restraining herself from elbowing him. Or slapping him upside the head. Really, he thought, it could be either one. "I'm fine," he assured the agents. He noted that neither of them seemed to buy it.

Diana's eyebrow shifted up – not a full-blown eyebrow raise, but it certainly suggested it. She stepped towards the living room and gestured halfheartedly to the couch.

Neal shook his head slightly as he declined the silent suggestion. "I've spent a lot of time in a bed lately," he explained as he shifted his weight in an attempt to alleviate some pressure and eliminate some pain. It only sort of worked. "I'm tired of 'resting'."

Diana heard the undercurrent of bitterness, but she really had no idea what the story was behind it. Rather than call him on it, or try to pry, she simply moved away from her colleague and settled on the arm of the couch. Resting her hands in her lap, she observed the conman.

He really didn't look good. His hair was mussed in a way she had never seen on him, he clearly hadn't shaved in days, and there were bags under his eyes that indicated a distinct lack of restful sleep. She felt an uncomfortable flutter in her stomach, and it didn't take long for her to recognize the feeling as concern. Or worry. It took her a little bit longer to come to terms with that, but she couldn't deny that the former criminal had become a permanent fixture in her life. He was someone she cared about, someone she enjoyed spending time with.

And something was wrong with him. She didn't know what, and she didn't know why, but she knew there was something bothering him.

She could definitely count him among her friends, as odd as that thought was. In that way, she supposed she was a lot like Peter: somehow, the young conman had become a part of her life, and she couldn't imagine it without him anymore.

The three of them stared awkwardly at each other, or rather, Diana and Jones watched Neal, while he alternated his gaze between the two of them.

Finally, Jones couldn't take the tension anymore, and he shifted backwards; leaning against the wall, he crossed his arms, trying to look casual, as he observed the consultant. "Any idea of when you'll be back?" he asked, trying to keep any hint of worry or nervousness out of his voice.

Neal attempted a half a shrug – his good shoulder lifted up slightly, while he tried to keep the injured one from moving – and settled his eyes on the FBI agent's right ear. "Soon," he replied noncommittally.

Peter, coming up behind the group, winced as he heard the aloofness in his partner's voice. Moving to stand beside the man, he nodded at his agents and pretended not to notice Neal's slight flinch at his closeness as he voiced his own answer. "Once the injuries heal, we'll talk," he offered up with a smile that had little real joy in it, and was instead full of what both FBI agents easily identified as concern, worry, apprehension, caring, and underneath it all, _fear_.

That last one shocked them. What was Peter so afraid of? And why? Seeing his gaze still locked on the conman, it wasn't hard to deduce the cause of his consternation.

That still left _why_. Both Jones and Diana knew, analytically, that something was wrong; but knowing _of_, and knowing _about_ were two different things. And this was definitely a difficult place to be. They knew something was up, but they didn't know what it was. And not knowing, they couldn't help. All they could do was watch. And hope that, maybe someday, they would be able to do more. Hopefully it would be sooner rather than later.

And because it seemed like Peter was enjoying their painful predicament, he chose that moment to invite them to stay for dinner. Really, it wasn't like they could turn him down.

Which was how the five of them ended up seated around the dining room table, happily enjoying a fine meal of Chinese takeout.

Or rather, four of them were. Neal seemed content to simply push his food around his plate, concentrating way too hard for someone who wasn't even eating the food.

The rest of them were sending him covert glances out of the corners of their eyes, but no one commented.

Until finally, Elizabeth rested a hand lightly on his arm. In the commotion of sitting down, she had made sure to get the seat next to Neal. She wasn't sure why it was so important to her to get that seat, but she didn't question her gut. Living with Peter had taught her that.

Neal started at the touch, and glanced at the offending hand, before following the limb up to look the woman in the eye. She raised one eyebrow, and looked pointedly at his still full plate. She didn't say anything, but those simple gestures were enough.

Neal lowered his eyes, and dutifully began to eat.

Elizabeth allowed herself a small smile, and locked eyes with her husband. He nodded at her, conveying his appreciation and gratitude.

Diana and Jones looked on with confusion. But both were smart enough not to comment.

The rest of the meal continued in silence, and afterwards, Elizabeth was quick to shoo Neal back to bed while the rest of them cleaned up.

Soon enough, Jones and Diana were saying goodbye in front of the door.

"Thanks for letting us come over," Diana said softly, carefully watching her boss' expression for any clues.

Peter smiled, but it looked much more forced than usual. Actually, most of his smiles lately looked much more artificial.

"Boss…" Jones trailed off, not sure what he had been about to say, but not really wanting to just leave.

Peter focused on the younger man. After a few moments, he shook his head and sighed. "He'll be fine," he reiterated, voice firm but with a definite waver underneath, that implied he didn't quite believe what he was saying.

Diana blinked, hearing the uncertainty. This wasn't her boss anymore. This was just a man; a man who was concerned for his friend. Who was worried, and afraid, and almost… desperate. She hadn't seen this Peter before, and to be honest, she didn't like what she saw. She wanted her friend back. Her boss. The man who was always so sure of himself, so confident in who he was and where he stood.

But she didn't think she would see him again until they got Neal back. The Neal who was so like Peter in that way: he always knew what he wanted and how to get it. He never doubted himself, because that doubt had once been the difference between running the con and going to jail; and even after that part of his life was over, he still carried himself with such an air of ease and certainty, no one ever doubted his self-confidence. Though she had to wonder now just how much of that attitude had been real.

She wanted both her boys back.

With a small sigh of her own, Diana clasped Jones' arm and gave him a tug. "We'll see you tomorrow," she said, leading Jones out the door.

Peter nodded to their backs as he closed the door behind them. He could see the understanding, and the pain that came with it, in the young woman's eyes. She didn't _know_, but she knew. She knew something was up, but she was waiting for him to come to her. She wouldn't pry, and she wouldn't complain. She would just… wait. That was why he loved Diana. She always knew what he needed. And she always wanted to help him. No matter what, she would always be there for him.

With a shake of his head, Peter turned back to the kitchen, intent on waiting for his wife. He once again cast up a prayer for whoever up there had seen fit to send him Elizabeth. The woman was a saint. He was so thankful that she was so good with his partner. He really thought she was helping him, and the sooner he was helped, the sooner he'd be back at the office, like nothing had changed.

Wishful thinking. Everything had changed. Everything would change. But that didn't have to mean that what the two of them had would ever change. They were still Peter and Neal, FBI agent and criminal. He would always think of Neal as his partner, and one of his best friends.

It was odd, to think of how much had changed in the last few years. They had gone from two people on opposite sides of a line, to partners, friends, _family_. He had given Neal a reason to come back, to change, to join him on his side of the line. And Neal had given him a partner who could keep up, a reason to look forward to going to work every day, but most of all, Neal made him better. Made him want to be better. Better at the job, better in life. A better man.

And now, with all the things he knew, with all the things he had discovered, Peter knew there was no going back. He was in this for the long haul, and no matter what happened after their deal was up, he wasn't abandoning Neal. He couldn't.

Peter sighed, thinking almost wistfully of the days when things were simpler, easier, and settled down to wait for his wife.

_Wow, again, I'm so sorry for the delay. This chapter did not want to get written, but finally, I managed to get it out. Hopefully it won't be so long between updates ever again._

_So, if I still have any readers out there, please enjoy… and of course, REVIEW!_


	10. Chapter 10

**Grrr, I am so sorry for how I keep putting this story on the backburner. I've gotten into Star Trek fanfiction recently, and I've been totally inspired with stories for that genre, that everything else is just getting pushed aside. And then I was on a Hawaii Five-0 kick, going through the fanfiction stories, and re-watching pretty much the entire first season… Right now, it's Harry Potter. I really think I need to get a life. I guess I really can't help when the obsession hits. I'm really trying to finish all of my stories, though, so like I've said several times, this **_**will**_** be completed.**

**Disclaimer: I still do not own**

Neal opened his eyes, confused and breathing heavily; it took him a moment to remember where he was. But then he recognized the plain white ceiling, and the comfortable queen sized bed with the soft sheets and warm blanket. He was in Peter and Elizabeth's guest room. He sighed in relief. These nightmares were really getting old. He hadn't had one in years, before his brief stay in the hospital.

He let out another sigh, this time much more weary, before taking a deep breath and holding it as he carefully sat up. He gasped a little in pain as his ribs protested the movement, but he didn't stop.

It took several minutes, but eventually, he was vertical. Once that task was accomplished, he took a moment to just orient himself to the position. He felt suspiciously light headed, but it passed soon enough. Running his good hand through his hair in an attempt to smooth the tangles, he slowly made his way out of the room.

He heard the telltale sounds of people making breakfast in the kitchen, but his first destination was the bathroom. Once that mission was accomplished, he backtracked, entering the warm – in every sense of the word – room, managing a smile that didn't entirely feel false for both the FBI agent and his wife. Elizabeth was at the stove, cooking what smelled like bacon and eggs, while Peter leaned against the counter next to her, coffee mug in hand. As soon as Neal entered, he immediately poured a cup, holding it out for the former felon.

Neal muttered something that was probably the equivalent of a thank you, had the conman been awake and coherent enough to think straight. As it was, it sounded more like 'mrmksh'.

Peter held in the snort, but showed a small half smile. "You're welcome," he replied. Apparently, Neal wasn't as much of a morning person as he had thought.

Neal nodded and sat at the table, setting the cup down after a long sip before adjusting his posture slightly in an attempt to relieve the pain in his ribs.

"Are you hungry?" Elizabeth asked, glancing over her shoulder as she slid the contents of several pans onto two plates.

Neal shrugged with his good shoulder. "A little," he conceded, focusing on the plate that Elizabeth brought to the table.

Peter was right behind his wife with plates and silverware for each of them. Elizabeth didn't give Neal the chance, and immediately piled his plate with food. She wasn't normally this forward, but she knew Neal hadn't been eating much, and he looked like he was losing an unhealthy amount of weight.

Neal managed a small smile as the woman set the food in front of him. The three of them ate their breakfast in silence, Peter and Elizabeth watching their house guest closely while trying to pretend otherwise, and Neal knowing what the other two were doing and politely ignoring it.

Soon enough, Peter was leaving for work, nodding a goodbye towards Neal and kissing his wife. Elizabeth saw her husband out before returning to the table. The former conman was still working his way through the food in front of him, eating slowly and in small pieces. He was on his second cup of coffee, and it looked like he might soon be ready for a third.

Elizabeth let out a quiet sigh before she sat back down. She really missed the old Neal. This quiet man was not the friend she had come to trust and respect over the last few years.

"How is it?" she asked, after watching him push around the rapidly cooling eggs for several minutes. There was no response. "Neal?"

"Hmm?" Neal looked up, startled, eyes wide.

Elizabeth smiled slightly, though she felt no real joy in it. Instead, there was a hollow sorrow at how distant he was. "Is breakfast all right?" she asked again.

Neal looked down at his plate, still half full. "It's great," he replied, setting his fork down and looking back up, a slight apology in his eyes. "I'm sorry, I guess I'm not that hungry."

Elizabeth nodded and leaned forward in her seat. "I know, Neal. Just like I know that you know you need to eat. Can you please finish what's on your plate? For me?"

Neal looked back at his plate, trying to bite down the sudden nausea. Elizabeth was right; he knew he needed the food. He considered protesting, but she had said please. Dutifully, he picked his fork back up and slowly but surely, cleaned his plate.

Elizabeth watched him silently, picking up his plate when he was finished, and moving over to the sink to start cleaning up. Neal watched her move about the kitchen, his eyes weary but alert, monitoring her every movement. Elizabeth tried not to let it unnerve her.

Finally, when the kitchen was back in order, Elizabeth turned back to the former conman. "I have a few errands to run today, Neal, would you like to come with me?"

The polite refusal was on his lips when Neal made the mistake of actually looking at the woman. She looked earnest, worried, and genuinely seemed to want him to accompany her. He bit his lip, before replying quietly, "Sure."

Elizabeth nodded, pleased, as Neal stood up, looked around for a moment, and then asked, just as subdued, "Do I have any clothes here?"

The woman smiled, and moved into the living room, picking up a bag from the floor by the couch. She turned back to the consultant. "June dropped this off yesterday. You should find everything you need in here."

Neal took the bag silently, and walked back to the guest room. He stopped on the threshold and looked back. "Thanks," he said, before continuing into the room, closing the door behind him.

Elizabeth continued staring at the door even after the former felon disappeared behind it. She _really_ missed the old Neal.

Half an hour later, the two of them were leaving the house. They drove mostly in silence, until Neal finally spoke, still looking straight ahead as his good hand absentmindedly fiddled with the cast on his other wrist. "What errands do you need to run?"

Elizabeth turned her head slightly to study the man before refocusing her gaze on the road. "I need to stop by the office, and then check out the location of an event I'm catering next week."

Neal nodded, trying to quell the guilt that presented itself at that moment. Peter and Elizabeth had put their lives on hold for him. Elizabeth surely had things she needed to do; after all, she had her own business to attend to. And now she was playing babysitter to him. "I'm sorry," he said softly, looking down at his lap.

Elizabeth looked back over in confusion. "For what?" she asked.

Neal shrugged with his good shoulder. "That I'm imposing. You've both got your own lives, I never meant to…"

He trailed off as Elizabeth shook her head. "Neal, you're not imposing. I want to help, I want to be there for you. We're friends, aren't we?"

Neal didn't answer, thinking that over. Were they friends? Sometimes he thought so, until he remembered that he was just supposed to be some guy who worked with her husband. They _weren't _supposed to be friends. Under normal circumstances, they wouldn't be.

But it wasn't normal circumstances. He wasn't just Peter's partner. Somehow, over the last couple of years, he and Peter had become something more. Something bigger. They had become family. And that meant that he and Elizabeth had become family. It should have been an unsettling thought; Neal had gone so long not knowing that feeling of acceptance, he had forgotten what it was like. It felt… good. Weird good, but still good.

Elizabeth waited, watching him think out of the corner of her eye as she adeptly maneuvered the New York City traffic, trying not to acknowledge the worry that cropped up as the minutes passed without an answer.

It wasn't until she pulled into a parking spot in front of her office that the former felon finally spoke.

"I don't know."

It was quiet, and seemingly out of the blue. Elizabeth put the car in park and turned it off, before moving to look at her husband's partner. "What?" She couldn't decide if her confusion was because of the actual answer Neal had given her, or just the fact that he had given her what sounded like an honest one. Not that she didn't know Neal could be honest, she just knew he usually wasn't. He was a conman, after all; she had no allusions about just how much he used dishonesty in his daily life.

Neal couldn't look her in the eye. He remained focused on his lap, his good hand fingering his cast as he worked his way through the though process. "We're not supposed to be." Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Elizabeth's gaze narrow, and he saw her bite her lip, the way he knew she did when she was confused. "I'm a conman; you're the wife of an FBI agent. Even with that aside, we just don't run in the same circles. We're not _supposed_ to be friends. We shouldn't even know each other…" He trailed off for a moment, and Elizabeth instinctively knew not to say anything. She felt like she was getting a glimpse of something very few people had ever gotten to see. As much as she and Peter had been privy to over the last few days, this was different. Finally, Neal continued, his voice quiet and contemplative. "we're not _supposed _to be, but we _are_. I can't remember the last time I was able to spend time with someone who didn't demand something from me in return. Sometimes, with you and Peter…" he trailed off again, but only for a moment, and his voice dropped in volume yet again when he finished the train of thought. "Sometimes I can almost imagine what it's like to have a family."

Elizabeth had to swallow and count to ten, to make sure she had her emotions firmly under control. She reached out slowly, giving Neal time to see the gesture and prepare himself, before she gently rested her hand on his knee, squeezing reassuringly. She said nothing, simply let the act serve as a response. It only lasted a few moments, before she withdrew her hand and opened the car door. "I'll be back in a few moments," she said, and waited for Neal to nod before she exited the vehicle.

She waited until she was inside, heading up to her office, before she pulled out her cell phone and called her husband. She barely waited until she heard Peter's greeting before grinding out, "He thinks of us as family."

Peter was silent for a moment. "What happened?" he asked cautiously. He knew that tone of voice; Elle was upset, but there was an undercurrent of happiness there that had him very curious.

Elizabeth paused to take a deep breath. Distantly, she began to dig through some papers on her desk, searching for the contracts she needed. "Neal," she explained. "We might be the only family he's ever known. I don't know what I did, I just asked if we were friends, and he just went off on how under normal circumstances, we shouldn't even know each other, but we do, and how it almost feels like family."

Elizabeth trailed off, and all Peter could here was a rustling of papers in the background, as he processed what his wife had just told him. In a way, he wasn't surprised that Neal had opened up to Elizabeth; it might induce a tiny bit of jealousy, after all Neal _was_ his partner, but Elle just had a way about her; it was a soothing presence that put most people at ease. Neal was no exception.

"He's right, Elle." He heard the rustling stop, and he knew his wife was focusing completely on their conversation now. "We are family. I don't know how it happened, but it's true. A couple years ago, I wouldn't have been able to stand the idea; Hell, even a couple of weeks ago, I would have resisted. But I don't think I've ever been so scared as when I saw Neal go down. And seeing him lying there, unconscious… Elle, somehow he wormed his way into our family, and I don't think I could ever get him to leave. Even if I wanted to."

Elizabeth let out a half snort. Well, if she were less ladylike, it would have been called a snort. "Even if you wanted to, I wouldn't let you," she replied, chuckling. It sounded slightly watery, indicating to her husband that she was either crying or on the verge of.

That worried him. "Sweetie?"

Elizabeth sniffed. "I just hate this so much!" she let out, rubbing her forehead roughly, before wiping the tears away. "Neal doesn't deserve any of this. He's so sweet, and caring. Do you think he would have turned to crime if he had grown up in a different environment?"

Peter paused, thinking it over. He had had to think a lot about the felon over the years. Like Diana and Jones, he had never seen Neal as the criminal type, though he usually tried to pass it off as Neal just being a good actor. Not anymore. Now that he _knew_ that Neal was the best actor he had ever seen, he also knew that his earlier suspicions were correct. Something had turned Neal to crime, and he had a suspicion of what it was. Elizabeth was right.

"No, I don't," the FBI agent replied, sighing as he ran a hand through his hair. "I think he was a brilliant kid with a bright future, and because of that… _man_… a lot of doors have closed for him. I don't think his life is over, by any stretch, but it's definitely not going to be easy." Peter grit his teeth as his thoughts turned unwillingly to the man who dared call himself Neal's father. If he ever met the son of a bitch… He made a mental note to look up that file and see if the man had ever been caught. If not, he would certainly be willing to rectify that.

Elizabeth let out a half chuckle at Peter's words. "Neal would never choose the easy way out, even if it was an option. Surely after all this time, you've realized that."

Peter nodded, even though he knew his wife couldn't see him. "I'm cutting my day short, so I'll be home soon," he changed the subject, knowing that it wouldn't halt it forever, but also knowing that it wasn't the type of conversation that he – or Elizabeth – wanted to have on the phone.

"Sounds good," Elizabeth replied. "Neal and I are out running a few errands right now, but it shouldn't take too much longer."

Peter raised an eyebrow. He wondered how his wife had managed to get Neal out of the house. "Love you." As soon as he heard his wife echo him, he hung up, and turned back to his work, hoping to finish up quickly and get back to his… family. As much as he accepted the fact, he did think including Neal in that word would take some getting used to.

_Wow, I know… too long! Sorry! I sort of hit a wall, and wasn't sure where to take this story next, and then… half a year passed. So to all of you who have stuck with me, thank you! Especially the reviewer who asked me not to forget about this story while reviewing another one of my fics! Made me go all warm and fuzzy inside._

_Please review!_


	11. Chapter 11

**Soooo long, I know! I keep apologizing, and I am sorry for that. I lost my inspiration for this story, and am trying to get it back.**

**Disclaimer: not mine**

Peter took a deep breath before opening the door and stepping inside. The conversation he had had with his wife played at the forefront of his mind, and he briefly wondered if he should say something to Neal, before deciding that it probably wasn't the best idea.

The smell of a home cooked meal assaulted his senses, as did the surprising sound of laughter. Most of it was clearly coming from his wife, but he could hear a deeper chuckle that could only be the felon – turned – consultant.

Entering the kitchen, he smiled and observed his wife and houseguest for a few moments. Elizabeth was pulling a roast out of the oven, while Neal set the table. He listened as Elle continued with a story that he recognized as not one of his finer moments while they had been dating. He couldn't help but laugh himself, as Elizabeth related how he had made a complete fool out of himself, trying to impress her and failing miserably, which drew their attention to his arrival.

"Evening," he said, still chuckling, as he moved to transfer several dishes from the island in the kitchen, over to the dining room table.

"Hi sweetie," Elizabeth returned, giving him a chaste peck on the lips as he returned for the roast. "How was work?"

Peter shrugged, smiling. "Pretty boring, I've got to admit," he answered, throwing a pointed gaze over at Neal.

Neal simply returned the smile, the hint of his previous laugh still lurking in his eyes.

Elizabeth went back to the stove, turning the burner off and transferring the potatoes inside to the waiting colander sitting in the sink. "Isn't that a good thing?" she queried, not looking up from her task as she completed the meal.

Peter's smile widened as he got a beer out of the fridge and sat at the table. "I guess," he conceded, watching as his wife and current houseguest took their own seats, before he began to cut up the roast, while Elizabeth dished out potatoes. He couldn't help but notice that she gave Neal at least twice what she piled onto her own plate. "I think we're all coming to a rather startling conclusion," he admitted as he began serving slices of meat.

"What's that?" Neal asked, his voice somewhat quieter than normal, as he tried to ignore the fact that both Burke's seemed intent on doubling his current weight.

Peter smirked as he took his own seat and began to eat. Around a mouthful of potatoes, he replied, "I don't think we appreciated just how much you bring to the office."

Neal wasn't sure how to answer that, so he opted to remain silent, as Peter continued, "It's way too quiet without you."

The former felon chewed his own dinner carefully, swallowing before he said, "Does that mean that you won't complain about my methods when I come back?"

Elizabeth laughed and answered for her husband, "Good luck with that, Neal. If complaining was an Olympic sport, Peter would have a gold medal. I think it's how he shows he cares."

They both laughed, and ignored the FBI agent's indignant squawk. Dinner continued on in comfortable silence, and when it was over, Elizabeth waved the two men off, telling them that she would clean up.

"You look tired, Neal, maybe you should go lie down," she suggested, giving him a motherly smile.

Neal took in her expression, as well as the knowing look he was getting from Peter, and deemed it wise not to argue. With a tired sigh, he mumbled something that sounded like goodnight, and left the dining room, headed back towards the guest bedroom.

When they heard the door close, Peter turned back to his wife, his expression softening slightly, to show the tiredness underneath his mask. "So what happened today?" he asked softly.

Elizabeth set down the plates she was carrying in the sink, and headed back to the table, sitting back down and exhaling, burying her head in her hands. "It was so sad," she admitted, looking up at her husband as he sat across from her. "And it makes me so mad. He really doesn't know what it's like to be a part of a family. He doesn't trust easily, and I have a feeling if we ever lost it, we'd never get it back."

Peter nodded his agreement. "Well then," he replied, "We'll just have to make sure we never lose it."

Elizabeth raised one eyebrow. "It's that simple, now is it?" she queried blandly.

Peter inclined his head once. "It is," he said simply. "I know he hasn't been a part of our lives for very long, but I don't want him to leave. He's like a brother to me. For better or worse, he's family, and you don't turn your back on family. I'd never hurt him, and I try every day to live up to the trust he has placed in me." He spoke with complete conviction, as his mind flashed back to that awful day several weeks ago. _"I trust you, Peter_," Neal had said. He didn't know how he had earned that trust, but he never wanted to lose it.

Elizabeth smiled, a real one that showed her own fondness for the consultant. "Why don't you go check on him while I finish cleaning up," she suggested.

Peter nodded, and both stood up, Elizabeth grabbing more dishes to take to the kitchen, while the FBI agent headed towards the guest bedroom. He paused before leaving the room completely, and turned back to face his wife. "I love you," he said simply, his eyes speaking more than his words ever could as he took in the beautiful woman he had been fortunate enough to spend over a decade of his life with.

Elizabeth returned his passionate gaze. "I love you too," she smiled. "Now go."

He didn't need to be told twice. With one last intense look, he turned back around, and went searching for his friend, his _brother_.

**XXX**

He found Neal in the guest bedroom, already in PJ's, and about to climb into bed. He watched silently from the doorway, as the consultant started to lift one hand to run through his hair, but was forced to stop halfway there, and lower the arm carefully. A painful wince and sharp gasp told the FBI agent that it was Neal's ribs that forced him to abort the action.

Stepping into the room, Peter made his presence known. "How're you doing?" he asked, grimacing internally as he noted the way Neal tensed slightly and jumped a little, turning around too quickly to not hurt.

He tried to ignore the hurt that blossomed as Neal tried to play off his actions. A one shouldered shrug and an 'I'm fine' that wouldn't fool anyone was not the comforting response he wanted. Later, he would be able to analyze his feelings of this moment, and would realize that he had been hoping that Neal would feel comfortable sharing his true thoughts and feelings, especially after everything he had already told his partner.

He watched silently as Neal sat down on the edge of the bed, moving the sheets down so that he would be able to get in easily, without overtaxing himself. That action done, he looked back up at his partner. Peter had crossed his arms expectantly, and still seemed to be waiting for an answer.

Neal sighed softly, holding in the slight smile he felt threatening to emerge, seeing the agent acting in his usual predictable manner. The past couple weeks, Peter had been almost walking on eggshells around him. It was so different from what he was used to, and he reveled in the possibility of getting his partner back. The Peter who wouldn't take no for an answer. The Peter who would push and prod and poke his way to an answer. Seeing Peter acting normally gave him some hope that they could get back to what they used to be.

"I'm fine, Peter," he assured the FBI agent again.

Peter relaxed slightly, his shoulders slumping a millimeter, and sunk into the chair set in the corner, never taking his eyes off his partner. "Would you tell me if you weren't?" he asked, not really expecting an answer.

To his surprise, Neal actually seemed to consider what he was posing. After a minute of silence, the former felon's gaze focused, looking Peter in the eye, and giving him no doubt of the truthfulness of his statement. "Yeah, I think I would," he replied simply.

Peter couldn't find a response to that, so he just nodded. Nothing more was said, and after another minute, the FBI agent stood up and walked to the door. He stopped just before leaving, and turned to take in his consultant once more. Neal looked tired, and sore, and those bruises really were an alarming shade of greenish-yellow, but for some reason, he felt nothing but a profound sense of relief. Maybe he could have wished for it to happen differently, but after all this, he finally knew for certain that the younger man would be all right. He still had some ghosts, and the past would never go away, but it seemed like Neal was done running.

Neal quirked an eyebrow, asking a silent question, to which Peter simply smiled, and said "Good night," before exiting the room, closing the door behind him.

Elizabeth was still washing dishes when Peter entered the kitchen. She took in the smile on her husband's face, and felt herself relax. "How is he?" she asked, her own smile threatening to break as Peter picked up a dish towel and started drying. She had him so well trained.

Setting down a now dry pot, Peter turned back to his wife. "He's all right," was his only response, but Elizabeth could feel the truthfulness, and somehow, she knew that the reply covered more than just his injuries.

After over a decade of marriage, Elizabeth knew how to handle her husband. She didn't ask for any more, and simply turned back to her dishes. Together, the two put the kitchen back in order, working in a companionable silence, before heading off to bed. They were still looking at a long road of recovery for their favorite conman, physically and mentally, but both were heartened by what they had seen. Neal wanted to change, and they wanted to help him. It would be tough, but both resolved to always be there for their friend. To talk, to listen, whatever he needed.

Because Neal Caffrey deserved it.

_I'm so incredibly sorry for the delay. I can't believe it took me so long to update. There's just the epilogue left, which should be up within a week or two. Thank you so much to everyone who's still reading this story._

_And of course, I love reviews!_


	12. Chapter 12

**At long last, this story comes to an end. It's been a long ride – a **_**really**_** long ride. But thank you to everyone who stuck with me. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, followed, etc. I wouldn't have been able to do it without you.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own**

Neal took a deep breath as the elevator dinged, steeling himself before stepping off the lift, and making his way into the familiar, bustling bullpen of the white collar crimes division of the New York offices of the FBI.

He hadn't set foot inside this building in almost three months, and in a lot of ways, it felt like coming home. The cast had come off his arm two days ago, and his ribs were – mostly – healed. A few twinges here and there, but nothing to be worried about. He had gotten the all clear from his doctor the day before, and was truly excited to be coming back to work.

He set his coat down at his desk, and then made his way over to the stairs that led to Peter's office. He nodded and smiled at a few agents, all of whom returned the gesture, pleased to have the consultant back with them.

Diana joined him as he made his way across the room. "Welcome back," she said with a smile, handing him a cup of coffee.

Neal returned the smile gratefully, grasping the beverage and taking a large sip. "Thanks," he said once he swallowed. His mind flashed back to their first meeting, and he couldn't help but ask, somewhat cheekily, "So does this mean I don't have to go down to the coffee shop outside anymore?"

Diana paused briefly, before she, too, recalled that statement she had made when they had first met at that airport during the Dutchman case all those years ago. She remembered her annoyance at the cocky criminal in front of her, and how she had seen him as nothing more than a convict-turned-consultant. But the years had changed their dynamic; from the cases they had worked together, to the evenings they had spent in each other's company. She had seen behind that cocky exterior, and found the truly remarkable man underneath. The last few months had shown her a different side of the man she thought she knew, and, while she didn't really have all the details, with her knowledge as a federal agent, she could piece together an incomplete picture. She really had no desire to keep digging though. She wouldn't bring it up until Neal wanted her to know.

The agent and consultant made their way up the stairs in companionable silence. Jones was with Peter, going over what was presumably their newest case.

Both men welcomed Neal back with smiles, before Peter handed him a file and told him to get to work.

**XXX**

A folder slapping down on the desk brought Neal's attention out of the file he had been reading. He looked up, and shot a questioning look at Peter, who was now half sitting on the edge of his desk, a slight smirk playing across his face.

"Anything interesting?" Neal asked, setting down his own reading for the moment, and picking up the folder his boss so clearly wanted him to look at.

Peter shrugged with one shoulder. "Tell me what you see," he replied. "You're better at picking up the little details than me."

Neal smiled as he began to read. "Was that actually a compliment?" he said by way of response, though he really wasn't paying attention anymore, as the file – lists of numbers and locations – began to hold his full concentration.

Peter almost snorted, and thought about coming up with some sort of reply, but he could tell by the look in Neal's eyes that he most likely wouldn't hear it anyway. Instead, he just sat back and waited.

It didn't take long, before Neal looked up, quirking an eyebrow as he returned his attention to his partner. His question was silent, but Peter knew exactly what it was the former felon was asking. It was a testament to how long they had worked together.

Peter nodded, smiling slightly. "The third property?" Neal nodded. "Yeah, that's what I thought too. You up for a ride?"

That question needed no verbal response. Neal was up and out of his chair almost before Peter had finished speaking, grabbing his coat and heading towards the elevator. Peter simply shook his head, chuckling, and followed after his partner.

**XXX**

It was several hours later when a tired but victorious Peter and Neal re-entered Federal Plaza, pleased with the success of yet another closed case, and happy that they had not lost a step, despite how long it had been since they had worked together.

Peter looked over at his partner, taking in everything, from the slightly hunched form, to the way he was absentmindedly rubbing his wrist – it had healed, or so Peter thought, but he supposed it was probably still a little stiff.

Neal glanced back, feeling the eyes on him, and quirked a questioning eyebrow. Peter gave a half smile. "You all right?" he asked quietly.

Neal drew in a breath to answer – the customary 'I'm fine', but then blew it out and looked down. "A little sore," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Peter felt a large grin coming on, but held it in wisely. He was happy that the former conman had become so comfortable with him, and was willing to let him in.

He said nothing for almost a minute, simply listening to the elevator ding as it passed each floor on its way up. Neal appreciated it; he appreciated everything Peter had done for him over the passed few months. It was amazing how much the FBI agent knew him – he always seemed to know exactly what was needed. When to talk, when to stay silent, and when to push. He had helped Neal so much. For the first time since he was a teenager, Neal actually felt like he could move on. For the first time, when asked how he was doing, he didn't feel like saying 'I'm fine' was such a lie.

"So how's it feel to be back?"

Neal looked up, to see Peter watching him, a concerned and caring look in his eyes.

He couldn't stop the smile from forming. "Good," he replied simply. He didn't say anymore, but Peter understood. Nothing more needed to be said.

At that moment, the elevator doors opened, and FBI agent and conman stepped out, making their way back to the bullpen of the white-collar crimes division. Neal stopped in the middle of the room and took in the hustle and bustle of agents coming and going, phones ringing, paper rustling. The small smile that had formed in the elevator widened, as Hughes stepped out of his office and executed his patented two-finger point. "Oh yeah," he said softly, "it's good to be home."

_And done! I know, yell, scream, hate me for taking so long. I'm really trying to tie up all my stories, and I apologize for pushing this to the back burner for so long. I hope you all enjoyed, and please review!_


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